


Obligations from a Half-Forgotten Life

by Dr_Roslin



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Battlestar Galactica - All Media Types
Genre: Adama has access to multiple beds but Laura always ends up in his, Also excessive use of the word Frak, Also kicks ass when needed, Angst, But they are very well hidden, But things are about to get frisky, Chapter 26 is pure fun, Comfortable quarters are better than shiny ones, Couches are better, Cylons, Doing penance for your sins, F/M, HEA eventually, I told you Roslin always ends up in Adama's rack, Kara Thrace is a great tour guide, Letting the past die, No Pregnancy, Old friends show up, Running Away, Sex Is Fun, So do old rivals?, Some people just don't know when to go away, Somethings even more painful than cancer, The most evocative and most versatile word of all time - Frak, They all have surprises to share, They can do it because I say so, Valkryie - Freeform, You can go ahead and skip that whole chapter if you want, and by fun Laura means sex, books are good, discussions of cancer, discussions of mortality, fuck cancer, might affect the fun though, seriously, so watch out for that, there are spoilers here, there is sex, won't affect the plot, you can skip that chapter if you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 71,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Roslin/pseuds/Dr_Roslin
Summary: Remember the incursion of Colonial pilot Bulldog into the Armistice zone at Adama's orders. What if Bulldog succeeded? What if he popped in, got nothing, and popped out? Further, what if the civilian government later found out what happened?
Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin
Comments: 110
Kudos: 79





	1. Unexpected Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> You know how some stories just won't leave you alone?  
> The following was supposed to be a drabble. I swear. It's currently sitting at 75 pages.
> 
> The premise is relatively simple. For those of you in the know, the Season Three episode Hero sets up the scenario that the renewed attack on the Colonies was largely the result of the Cylon reaction to the incursion of Colonial pilot Bulldog into the Armistice zone, an incursion for which Adama blames himself, no matter the fact that it was ordered specifically by the Admiralty.
> 
> What if Bulldog succeeded? What if he popped in, got nothing, and popped out? Further, what if the civilian government later found out what happened, something which was entirely possible?
> 
> Spoilers wise, don't watch if you haven't seen Hero. The following is A/U, but still. You will learn things you don't want to.

‘Breathe. That’s right. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Frak. Where’s that aide of yours?’

‘What?’

She looked up at the unknown man standing over, the decorations glinting on his chest. She tried to remember to breathe. She tried to remember why it was important that she breathe.

_‘That aide of hers’… Wait. Who?_

‘Your aide. Where is he?’

He turned slightly to yell at the receptionist, his eyes never leaving hers.

‘ETA on the ambulance? And where the frak is her aide?’

He sounded angry; why was that? Oh. Right. She couldn’t breathe. _Why was that again?_

He turned his focus back to her, his brilliant blue eyes boring into her.

‘Focus. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Again. In. Out.’

_Right. In. Out._ She concentrated as he spoke firmly to her, using his voice as an anchor. She tried to focus on his words, to follow his instructions. He seemed to think it important. She looked at him, squatting in front of her, watching as he tried to funnel his will into her. She could barely hear him; it was as if she was hearing his voice echo dimly through a tunnel.

‘Just breathe. Focus… Nearly gave me a heart-attack when you keeled over, but I’ve got you now. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. ’

_In. Out. Right. Breathe. In. Out._ That’s how it worked. _In. Out._ He made it sound so easy. So simple. She tried to concentrate, focusing only on his voice and the command inherent in his eyes. She did so because it was her only option; he would accept nothing less.

‘You’re okay,’ he reassured her. ‘You’re okay...damn it,’ he yelled at the receptionist, the phone still at her right ear, ‘it’s Roslin, right?’

‘Roslin. Laura Roslin. She’s - she was… Secretary Roslin.’

She was grateful to feel the warmth of his gaze return as he focused on her again.

‘You’re okay, Laura. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Secretary Laura Roslin… Secretary of Education, right? You resigned? Faded out of sight… After you took care of the teacher’s strike… You just quit. Out of the blue… some sort of… health crisis… _Frak_.’ he said, swearing quietly under his breath.

She glared at him, trying to push away the sympathy in his eyes. It wasn’t his fault, but she had to blame someone, so it might as well be him. She had not _faded away_. She _would not_ fade away. She had fought, would _fight_. Still struggling to breathe, she focused on him again. She wondered, had wondered, for months, where he’d come from. She’d seen him once a week, every Wednesday, like clockwork, for the last six months, noticed him waiting in the President’s outer office, even as she did.

‘What’d you do?’

‘Called the paramedics; they’re on their way. Michelle, the receptionist, says there’s some sort of pills in your purse, don’t want to give them to you till I know what they are. Where’s that damn aide of yours?’

‘Not my aide – ’

‘Whatever he is – son, lover, gigolo…’ he made her smile weakly at that one, ‘don’t care – where the frak is he?’

‘Friend.’

‘Whatever. Where is he? ‘

‘Sent him home,’ she wheezed, trying again to get some air into her battered lungs. 'Spends too much time taking care of me. Has to have his own life. Not what I meant – ’

‘Laura. Breathe.’

‘What’d you do?’

‘Laura, I don’t…’

‘To end up here. With me. What’d you do?’

‘Laura. It’s okay. Breathe. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m here.’

‘Who are you again?’

It was funny, she’d always been so good at placing people; who they were, where they belonged. She was distracted as the receptionist tried to get the attention of her mysterious benefactor and he momentarily took his focus off her. She tried to concentrate on the solid man in the dress uniform of a Rear Admiral of the Colonial Fleet squatting next to her, holding her hand.

‘Admiral Adama, the ambulance is 5 minutes out…’

_Right. Adama. William Adama. Of the Battlestar…_

‘ _…Valkyrie…_ ’


	2. Old Friends and New

She woke in a hospital bed, the sun shining in from an open window and the smell of the Caprican Sea wafting in. Agathe General Hospital, then. She’d spent entirely too much time there lately, and now sadly she was intimately familiar with it.

Turning her head gingerly on the stiff pillow, she was surprised to see William Adama sitting comfortably in the chair next to the bed, reading glasses settled on his face, a pile of paperwork in his lap. Looking down, she saw matching stacks piled haphazardly on the floor on either side of him. He’d obviously been sitting there a while. 

‘Admiral…’

She’d startled him; he looked over and smiled, taking the glasses off. 

_Wow. He should smile more often_ , she thought. 

Then again, she might not ever get anything done. 

Getting up, he tossed the current file onto his vacated seat before reaching over, almost in reflex, to check her forehead with the back of his right hand. With the other, he reached for the call button, to summon the nurses she imagined. 

‘You’re up.’

She couldn’t stop staring. 

‘What are you doing here?’ she rasped. 

She shouldn’t be annoyed, he was clearly concerned only with her welfare, but the truth was, she’d never dealt well with being ill. 

‘Wait, how long have you… have I…?’

‘The doc should be here in a minute, you were out longer than he expected. Had him worried. Your… Billy went to get coffee.’

‘Billy?’

‘Your, friend? Michelle got a hold of him, he met us here. You gave him quite a scare. You’ve been out for more than a day, so we’ve been switching off.’ 

He moved out of the way as the nurse came in to check all the machines and hurry off. _Nice to meet you too,_ Laura thought sarcastically as they barely bothered to acknowledge her. She watched as Adama settled himself back in, tossing the latest file on the pile to the left. 

Billy she got, gods knows that boy was too conscientious for his own good, but…. 

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Scared the crap out of me. Just keeled out, fell right out of your chair. Couldn’t get a hold of Billy, thought it best to wait with you until you rejoined the land of the living.’

‘I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.’ 

‘Anyway, figured it’d be better than having you wake up to Adar sitting next to you.’

Adar. _Frak._ Now she’d never be able to ditch him. She sighed, aware that Adama’s eyes never wavered from her face, aware that he was carefully tracking her reaction. 

‘Admiral Adama - ’ 

‘Bill.’

‘Bill. While I appreciate your concern…’ 

_Was he laughing at her, damn it?_ His eyes were crinkling at the corners, their vivid blue standing out against the olive skin of his craggy face. She glared, doing her best to maintain her professional façade. 

‘…I assure you that I am now perfectly able to deal with the … nonsense… of my current situation.’

_Even that frakwit Adar._

Instead of looking offended, though, as he bloody well should, he laughed, reaching over to grasp her hand lightly before letting go.

‘Naturally, Madame Secretary.’

She was going to kill him. 

‘You don’t have to call me that; I’m not in the Cabinet.’ 

_Anymore._

‘Of course, Madame Secretary.’ 

He leaned back in his seat, once again seemingly devoting his entire focus to the paperwork in his lap, as inscrutable as a slab of granite, and apparently, as immovable. She could sense him looking at her, though, from the corner of his eye. He was clearly still laughing at her, godsdamn it, inviting her to join in in his amusement. 

Giving in, she laughed, unable to resist laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. She had no idea why she felt the strongest need to reach out to the unusual man sitting at her bedside. She wished she could repeat his gesture from earlier and reach out and grasp his hand.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. And it’s Laura.’

Having returned his focus to her, he relaxed under her amused gaze, the paperwork falling unheeded once more into his lap. 

_Point Adama._

‘Laura.’ He almost savored her name, drawing it out. ‘Bill.’

‘Bill. Now that we’ve established that, can I ask why you’d want to waste such a beautiful day in this godsforsaken hospital keeping a stranger company?’

‘Are we strangers, then?’

‘Are we not?’

‘After we’ve spent the last six months of Wednesdays together waiting at our President’s pleasure?’

‘Oh, we get Fridays, too.’

They both turned to see Billy leaning against the door jam, two coffee cups in hand, looking pleased to have surprised them. 

_I should get that boy a collar with a bell on it,_ Laura thought.

‘Billy. How long have you… Never mind. Billy Keikeya; Bill Adama.’

‘Admiral.’ She watched, mystified, as her friend and former aide passed one of the coffee cups to the older man. She was surprised, the two men must have spent enough time together for Billy, who was usually somewhat shy, to have reached that level of comfort with her new friend. 

Meanwhile, the tantalizing aroma wafting from the two cups drifted over to torment her. She could almost feel her brain click off. 

_Coffee…_

Frustratingly, the cups were just out of reach. 

‘Thanks, Billy.’

Looking directly at her, Adama sipped the devil’s brew, clearly taking care to deliberately taunt her as he savored it. She hadn’t thought she was that easy to read, but he clearly recognized her longing for the coffee he was taking such care to enjoy, his brilliant cobalt eyes meeting hers over the rim of the cup.

Their eyes stayed locked for a few minutes before she broke, laughing, and reached for the coffee. He stretched his hand to hand it over, and she smiled gratefully at him. She didn’t know why she felt like she could simply reach over and claim a share of his coffee, didn’t know why it felt like they’d been playing this game for years, but she was enjoying it, so she wasn’t going to question it. He held the cup just out a reach for a split second longer before offering it to her, acting all the while as if that had been his intention all along.

He smirked. ‘I’m sorry, Madame Secretary, did you want some?’

Snatching it with undue haste, she wrapped both hands around the cheap paper cup before raising it to her face to inhale the rich, caffeinated scent. As the full aroma hit her, she relaxed, feeling like she’d awakened after having been asleep for weeks. Even as the flavor of cheap hospital coffee hit her tongue, she purred. It was doctored just the way she liked, with only a hint of cream. 

Determined to enjoy the decadence, she focused on the coffee and ignored the frown Billy directed her way. Unfortunately, Adama noticed her aide’s reaction as well. He quirked his eyebrow at Billy, who couldn’t overcome his inner killjoy.

‘The Doctors. They don’t want her to mix caffeine with her cancer treatments.’

Even as the two men turned to look at her, she clutched the cup tightly and glared at them, refusing to be intimidated. 

‘Touch this cup and die,’ she growled. 

She though she saw sympathy lurking behind the amusement in Adama’s eyes, but made sure to keep her guard up just in case.

‘How long?’ he asked her, and she decided to assume he meant since she’d been without the glorious brew. 

‘Six months, three weeks and four days,’ she informed him after she enjoyed her next sip, ‘so tread carefully.’

‘Billy says you shouldn’t have it.’

Her friend leapt into the fray, obviously afraid of her wrath. ‘ _Doctors._ The _doctors_ say she shouldn’t have it. Not me.’

‘Don’t worry, Billy, I would never blame _you_. I know it’s the doctors who’ve banned me from the nectar of the gods. Just as I know,’ she continued, seeing him wince, ‘they are the ones who’ve encouraged you to _remind_ me of that fact whenever I even think about coffee. Or tea. Or chocolate – ’

‘Chocolate?’ Adama interjected.

‘Chocolate. Or…’ she growled as Billy paled and took a defensive half-step back, ‘wine. Oh, I know who has banned me from wine. Just as I know who reminds me of that fact _every_ day.’

She could see it as he broke. 

‘I’ll just get the doctor,’ he tossed at her as he backed defensively, half-running, out the door. 

She struggled to hold it together as he left the room, and as she heard his footsteps hurry down the hall she let out her laughter, her rich, full voice filling the room. Turning to the man by her side, she was delighted to see the answering laughter shining in his eyes. Clearly, he enjoyed her sense of humor. Or perhaps, she mused, enjoying the warmth in his eyes as he looked at her, perhaps he just enjoyed her. It was a lovely feeling. 

‘I shouldn’t tease him, he’s a great kid and he’s been so good to me.’

‘You scared the crap out of him.’

She laughed again. ‘I know, I just couldn’t resist. It’s nice to know I still can. He’s growing into his potential every day, while every day I get more…’ she trailed off. She lowered her gaze once again, focusing on the coffee in her hands as she took another sip. ‘Well, let’s just say it’s hard to be intimidating while you’re puking up your guts in front of someone.’

‘Never really have the same relationship after that.’

She smiled at him, grateful he could see the humor in the situation. ‘No, you never really do.’

‘Not necessarily a bad thing, though. He tells me he worked for you?’

‘He did, you were right; he actually _was_ my aide until this last year. After everything, happened, I got him a job in State. At least he can learn there, and it keeps him …clear… of things.’

‘He’s always been with you when I see you.’

‘Yeah, they’re flexible with his schedule; let him work around my… appointments. Never has any down time as a result, though.’

‘Seems okay with it. You too must have been close.’

She sighed. ‘Yeah, it’s funny; he wasn’t my aide for long before I got sick, but, I don’t know, we just clicked.’

‘Sometimes people are like that.’

She looked at the near stranger relaxing in the visitor’s chair beside her and smiled. 

‘Sometimes they are.’


	3. Miracles and Obligations

In that moment of comfortable silence, and through the awkward, painful, visits by various doctors which followed, Laura pondered his words. _Sometimes you just click, _she thought. Why give it any more thought than that? After all, she was too tired to worry about what it all meant and why he seemed to have absolutely no interest in leaving. He certainly seemed comfortably ensconced in the chair beside her, so she decided just to be grateful for his company and his comfort as the doctors poked and prodded her, offering only vague updates on her condition in return.__

____

The latest doctor, Sarah Fledgle, who seemed to her eyes to be even younger than Billy, broke her train of thought. ‘And you’re still meeting with Dr. Baltar on Wednesdays and Fridays for your treatments?’

____

_And what a treat that was_.

____

‘Yes.’ 

____

She sensed Bill’s focus snap back. ‘Gaius Baltar?’ She heard him interject softly, his deep, soft voice rumbling through her. He seemed only mildly intrigued, but she wasn’t fooled.

____

She could almost feel the wheels turning in his head as he made mental notes. Visits with Adar on Wednesdays and Fridays. Treatments on Wednesdays and Fridays. Gaius Baltar, whose connection to Adar was well-known. She really should have made Bill wait outside while she dealt with Fledgle and the others, but at the time she’d thought, _really, why bother?_

____

She was dying. 

____

Everyone knew it. 

____

At Adar’s insistence, they’d practically announced it on the evening news. 

____

‘Gaius freaking Baltar,’ she confirmed softly to her new friend, refusing to meet his eyes. In the background her doctor babbled on in excitement as she continued the tests. For reasons passing understanding, Baltar had that effect on some people. 

____

‘…greatest mind of his generation, total genius, such an honor to be working with him …’

____

Giving in to the inevitable, she finally met Bill’s gaze, easily reading the question unspoken between them. 

____

‘Greatest mind of his generation?’ he asked softly.

____

‘That’s what they tell me.’

____

Luckily Fledgle remained too immersed in her charts, or too blinded by the reflected glory of Baltar’s celebrity, and failed to notice. Instead, standing at the side of her bed, the doctor stared pointedly at Bill, trying no doubt Laura imagined, to indicate that it was time for him to go. He, however, met her stare directly, and showed no signs of leaving. It was clear he was waiting to see if the young doctor would take the bold step of ordering him out. Having reluctantly had several months of experience with health professionals, Laura stepped in as she really wasn’t sure what would happen should that Fledgle and Adama went head to head.

____

‘He can stay,’ she stated quietly, breaking the silence between them.

____

Seemingly remembering that she was, in fact, still there, they turned their attention to her once more. Fledgle forgot herself and actually frowned down at her, but Bill only settled more comfortably in his seat, seemingly unconsciously taking her hand. She gripped it tightly, the rough olive colour of his skin contrasting with hers, the cold only making the contrast of her veins more pronounced against its translucent shade. 

____

‘Are you sure, Dr. Roslin?’ Fledgle asked. 

____

She had started making them address her by her full title the first month she had started treatment. She had thought it ridiculous when Adar had suggested it, but it had turned out to be one of the few helpful pieces of advice he had given her. Surprisingly, she found it encouraged them, at least subconsciously, to treat her more like a colleague and less like a lump of clay. 

____

She knew she was considered a difficult patient, by the doctors on the wing at least, and this would be yet another strike against her. _Doctors,_ she thought. They were always impatient when their patients weren’t as obedient as the cadavers in medical school. She felt like reassuring Fledgle. _Don’t worry, kid, I won’t be your problem for long._

____

Hearing Fledgle’s soft sigh, she glanced up to see the frustration run briefly across her face. Relenting, she reminded herself that Fledgle was one of the better ones. She was respectful of Roslin’s input into her own treatment, and the refusal of the cancer to respond to their efforts troubled her. _In some ways, it weighs on more on her than me,_ Laura reminded herself.

____

She was also well aware of Fledgle’s concerns. There were decisions to be made, painful ones, ones they had both been putting off. Fledgle knew she normally dismissed Billy at this point, unwilling to put him through the process of painfully and awkwardly discussing the, increasingly dubious, options available to her. 

____

For some reason, though, she wanted Bill to stay. Unlikely as it would have seemed given their short acquaintance, she found his presence inordinately comforting, and she wasn’t ready to give that up. He showed no sign of interfering as she conferred with her doctor, and his quiet support wrapped her like a warm blanket. She needed that, especially if Fledgle was going to suggest further visits to Baltar’s lair. 

____

‘He can stay,’ she confirmed softly, her eyes on the fingers of her right hand as they picked at the hospital sheets.

____

Taking a seat on her hospital bed as Bill obstinately refused to give any ground, Fledgle looked directly at her. Meeting the young doctor’s eyes, Laura concentrated on holding her gaze steadily. 

____

‘We’ll have to wait for the results to come in next week, but Dr. Baltar’s program is experimental, meant to slow the progress of the cancer at best. I want you to focus on day-to-day pain maintenance.’

____

Laura nodded. They’d gone over the list of symptoms she could expect from the treatments on a regular basis since her diagnosis, as well as after she’d started Baltar’s weekly treatments. The traditional cancer drugs had done little to slow the progress of the disease, and it was too early to see what significant effects Baltar's treatments were likely to have. 

____

So far she hadn’t noticed any difference. That wasn’t necessarily a surprise, as the entire process of her treatment program with the Colonies’ most famous frakwit had been disappointing in general. Sometimes she wondered what the point was. She certainly didn’t feel any better. Only the chamalla she’d been taking early into her treatment had proved at all reliable in combating the pain, and she was off it now, at Baltar’s behest. Sometimes she wondered if she had made the right decision. Taking the chamalla had been the only treatment which had allowed her any relief from the pain, the only thing that allowed her the ability to breathe somewhat easily. It had also given her the most intense hallucinations, but sometimes she missed even those. At least then she knew she was still alive.

____

The doctor waited to see her re-focus, waiting for her to come back to them. ‘You’ve taken my advice? Started to put your affairs in order?’

____

Her will, Fledgle meant. It had been simple enough. Her family was gone, and there was little for her to dispose of, anyway. She’d lost patience with things after the car crash, lost interest in anything really, like friends and hobbies and art. She’d slowly re-focused all of her energies into her work, especially after she moved into the political sphere in Adar’s shadow. Work. That was all there had been for a long time, Richard Adar notwithstanding.

____

So, yes. Her affairs were in order. She’d disposed of most things, to libraries and goodwill, the papers to the Ministry’s archives… The house. The house went to Billy. Maybe it would give him a leg up in his new life on Caprica. It was the least she could do for him, little though it was. It also felt right, the house binding him to her legacy, that of her family, all well and good since he’d become part of it. When he married and started his own family, as she was sure he would, the house would live again. 

____

‘Yes.’

____


	4. William Adama and the Dragon Pup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill's P.O.V. on how he came to meet a redhead languishing in the outer office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol and accompanied only by a young aide.
> 
> or 
> 
> The Legend of William Adama, Bad-Ass Viper Pilot, and the Dragon Pup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Billy.

Bill watched carefully as his new friend contested with an unbelievable number of doctors and held back his sigh. He wondered why he’d waited so long to approach her after watching her in Adar’s office for so long, and he cursed himself for not making the move earlier. Billy might be invaluable as her support system, but it was clearly not enough.

In the end it seemed there _had_ been a purpose to him mouldering in that waiting room, though it had been hard for him to see it during those endless six months. 

At the time he’d thought it was merely along the lines of an unanticipated work hazard, but apparently he’d been needed there all along. 

In a way, the realization came as a relief as the last six months had tried his patience in ways he’d rarely experienced. It had been one of the rare times that he really hated his frakking job, a result mainly of the fact that the Admiralty had recently done him the supreme honour of noticing his existence. He understood _why_ they had decided to punish him, but the penance they demanded - his role as a scapegoat to placate Adar - had been high.

It was hardly his fault his mission had been a spectacular success. It was hardly his fault that the Admiralty had still ended up with nothing, no new intel, despite it. It was also hardly his fault that Adar had spies everywhere, and that the ill-conceived mission had ended up costing his superiors significant political capital. 

It had been a long time since there had been this deep a rift between a Commander-in-Chief and the Admiralty, and it looked as though Adama had been set up to play whipping boy. So, while it wasn’t his fault, it had become his responsibility. He’d take his medicine. Just as he had for the last six months. 

During his time on Caprica he listened obediently to the never-ending lectures on the part of his superiors regarding his failure to find evidence, any evidence, of a continuing Cylon presence during his short-lived and illegal incursions beyond the Armistice Line. At the same time, he sat patiently once a week in the overheated audience room awaiting the President’s pleasure. He then endured their seemingly endless meetings, which seemed to have no other purpose other than impressing on him his lowly stature and general ineptness. 

And while he sat in that bland room in the inner sanctum of the most powerful man on the twelve worlds, he waited. And hoped. And wondered. Wondered about the frail redhead and her young companion who waited as patiently in that room as he did. And, whom, he couldn’t help but notice, seemed to receive as little notice as he did. Though, in all those months, she barely glanced at him. 

She simply sat patiently, more often than not staring out the window at the sky. 

He wondered about her, who she was, how she’d ended up there. 

And hoped she didn’t stop coming. 

She looked familiar, but though he knew he should be able to place her, he never managed to, even after all that time he spent watching her in that waiting room. But he hoped to see her, just the same, every Wednesday. Hoped to see her and waited for his opportunity. 

The kid by her side may not look like much, tall and lanky as a beanpole with a whole swath of curly, floppy hair, but from the way he hovered, it was clear no one was getting through him. _The Dragon Pup_ , Bill had nicknamed him. He was clearly protective, and based on the way Bill occasionally caught him glaring at the door to the inner sanctum, clearly pissed. Bill could only imagine that it was as a result of the fact that the President kept dragging the woman Bill had to assume was his boss in here every week. Particularly as she was so pale that you could see right through her. No wonder the kid was wound up.

Bill admired that, even as he wondered at his own timidity. The kid was maybe twenty-two, after all. He was pretty sure he could outmanoeuvre him. Still. The redhead looked so drawn. Unsure of himself - a distinctly unfamiliar feeling - he was hesitant to approach her, unsure of overstepping his bounds. He was reluctant to disturb what little peace she’d seemingly managed to find. So he waited, unsure as to why, but waited patiently all the same. He had no idea why he was so strongly drawn to the quiet woman he saw every week, but... It was what it was, as he later told her. 

When he’d walked in and found her waiting alone, he’d known. Today. This was the day. Still, though he’d imagined many ways to meet her during those long weeks, he’d never imagined one where she’d keeled over the moment he’d walked up. The memory of her looking up at him with glassy eyes before toppling out her chair had haunted him the entire time he’d sat waiting in that hospital room. 

_Why had he waited so long?_

He’d berated himself for his cowardice. He’d fallen through the atmosphere from two kilometres up; he’d fought off Cylons with nothing but his hands and a lead pipe; he’d faced the fear of sending others into battle while he could do nothing but watch. But he couldn’t face the wrath of a lanky aide who looked barely out of his frakking teens? 

He could hear Saul Tigh laughing at him from the _Valkyrie_. 

_Bill Adama. Bad-Ass Viper Pilot._

Still, here was, the gods or the fates or whatever confluence of luck and opportunity having come together to lead him to this chair, by this bed, as the youngest doctor he’d ever seen badgered his new friend (Laura!) regarding ‘arrangements’ and Gaius Baltar. 

She must be stronger than she looked to come out sane after spending months almost exclusively in the company of Baltar and Richard Adar. 

No wonder she clung to Billy. That kid must be like the eye of sanity in a frakking shit storm of crazy. Having gotten to know the kid a bit, he’d been glad to see that his earlier impressions had been vindicated. He hadn’t been wrong to imagine Billy as a baby dragon. And the pup was growing teeth. 

Snapping his focus back to Laura, Bill could tell the doctor had almost finished with her spiel. Wishing Cottle was here to translate the medical gobbledygook for him, he attended to the matter at hand. Despite her stoic front, he had heard the strain in Laura’s voice. He could tell she was at her limit. Having seen the way the medical staff insisted on treating her like a warmed-over corpse, he could hardly blame her. 

'So we’ll continue to monitor the situation until the test results get back.’

‘In the meantime, I can go home?’ 

‘It will be a few more days, at least,’ the doctor insisted. ‘That last…event. It won’t be the last. They’ll come more frequently now. It’s best we have you here, to make sure you’re treated immediately when you need to be.’

 _To resuscitate you,_ Bill heard in the doctor’s subtext. _To keep you breathing._

While he appreciated the intent, he could also tell Laura was near the end of her rope. Even the strongest could only take so much, he knew, and this environment wasn’t helping. 

‘She should come home with me,’ he heard himself say as both women turned to stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also at @RandomBks if you want to say 'hi'.


	5. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't how it works, okay? Go with me here, it works because I say it does.

She was trying so hard not to beg.

She’d barely met the man, after all. It was simply that she felt so… _right_ , around him. At ease. And it had been so long since she’d felt anything but tired. Resigned. She wasn’t willing to give up the sense of strength and comfort he exuded.

Trying to keep her face impassive, she looked from her doctor to Adama as they began their complicated dance of negotiation, her presence clearly forgotten. Observing as she did, she learnt a great deal about William Adama during the next few minutes. She wasn’t sure why she’d assumed he couldn’t play this game. He was clearly a master. Whatever obstacles her doctor put in his path, they were sidestepped, deferred and overcome.

‘While it would be better for Dr. Roslin to be consistently attended,’ Dr. Fledgle began, ‘I’m not sure we have the facilities needed for her to be transferred into your care, Admiral. It takes some time, I’m afraid, to set up home care.’

‘Forgive me, Dr. Fledgle,’ Adama responded courteously, ‘if I wasn’t clear. I wasn’t suggesting home care. The _Valkyrie_ is equipped to deal with all medical situations, as is my chief medical officer.’

‘Dr. Roslin’s situation is delicate, Admiral, and given her need to be available for Dr. Baltar’s treatments, I’m not sure a trip that far out would be appropriate.’

_Crap. Think, Roslin, think._

The important part was to get out of this antibiotically scented hell. And she didn’t care if it was on a one-way trip to nowhere on a bucket of bolts after the End of Worlds. As long as it got her out of here.

She wanted to live a little before she died.

Just as she opened her mouth, however, Adama smoothly stepped in. Even the apparently insurmountable impediment of Baltar’s treatments fell before Adama’s quiet suggestion that the trip would provide extra data for ‘the good doctor’. And with Cottle on call twenty-four seven, he emphasized, Dr. Roslin would be hands ‘every bit as capable as Dr. Fledgle’s.’

The young doctor wasn’t as impervious as she would have thought in the face of Bill’s subtle flattery, and before long, she was wavering.

‘Well. The results won’t be in from Dr. Baltar for a number of days…’

‘At which point you could come aboard to discuss the results. Or have them sent to Dr. Cottle for his review…’

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Exactly how long are you planning on keeping my patient on that Battlestar of yours, Admiral?’

He looked calmly over at Laura, and though his face gave nothing away, she could almost hear his internal response. _We’re coming up together…_

She smiled. Clearly they were on the same page. He resumed his careful negotiations with her doctor, and she relaxed, letting have his head.

‘It is my understanding that Dr. Roslin’s condition requires that she be attended at all times…’

She reluctantly swallowed her protests. Objectively, she was aware that her condition had deteriorated to that point, but it still made her feel as though she was child, not to be trusted on her own…

‘It’s also my understanding that Mr. Keikeya’s responsibilities render it increasingly difficult for him to act as Dr. Roslin’s caregiver,’ Bill continued quietly.

Not that she had any intention of letting him continue to do so. It was time she took some weight off that boy’s shoulders.

‘Yes,’ Fledgle responded cautiously, seeming to sense she was being boxed in. ‘It is _my_ understanding that Laura has known you for only a few days. Not only am I concerned that this plan was devised hastily, I also need you to be aware of the heavy responsibilities involved. Her condition, as you know, is increasingly delicate. She will require constant care and - ’

Fledgle glanced at Laura, clearly choosing her words carefully.

‘ - supervision. I need to be sure that you are ready for that. I also need to know that your crew is prepared for that, and that your supervisors are comfortable with the commitment you are making to provide that care.’

Despite her proximity to the office of the President, Laura Roslin had met very few serving members of the Colonial Armed Forces. She’d certainly never met a Battlestar Commander, a breed whose reputations were legendary even outside the military. Dangerous men she had met, but until that moment, she wouldn’t have necessarily put Adama in that category. Still, she would hardly have needed to be an expert to recognize the latent intimidation of his quiet response.

‘The responsibility for all aspects of life on the _Valkyrie_ remains mine, Dr. Fledgle. The Admiralty would no more question my handling of internal matters aboard _my_ ship than they would my personal… relationships.’

It was if the rotation of Caprica had slowed for a single moment as the two looked at each other, each paramount in their respective fields, each endowed with all the natural arrogance granted them by personality and position. As the only sound in the room became that of Laura’s somewhat tortured breathing and that of the light breeze rustling through the leaves outside, she waited cautiously, not wanting to disturb the delicate tension between them. It was her doctor who finally broke.

‘I see.’

Given the glint in Adama’s eye, Laura wondered what he was thinking, so still in his chair, seemingly utterly at ease but with the remnants of the tension in the room still apparent in his carefully held body language. She wondered if it were true, what she’d heard, that a commander was for all intents and purposes, god, on his ship. She wondered what that must be like, to wield that kind of power, to hold the balance of thousands of lives in your hands. She was grateful she’d never have to find out, and she wondered what type of person could handle that responsibility, let alone to have it rest easily on their shoulders. She had no doubt she was looking at one.

‘Nevertheless,’ her doctor paused as Laura was startled though by the unanticipated steel which had crept into her voice. ‘Dr. Roslin remains my responsibility, as do all of my patients. Part of that is ensuring that they understand the nature of their options and the resulting repercussions.’

In this moment Laura had an epiphany, shocking in its impact. She had been alone, drifting in the nether regions of life, for such a long time, that she had forgotten what it felt like to be enveloped in the care of others. Its’ very absence had in itself become a comfort, allowing herself to be selfish in a way, the failures of others to get close allowing her to focus on her goals. The longer she was alone the more she’d grown uncomfortable with those who had tried to get close, had pushed them away, preferring to rely only on herself.

Now, as her doctor and this strange, wonderful, taciturn, man sitting beside her fought to care for her, as Billy wandered the halls of this stupid hospital to escape her wrath when, by all rights he should be living his own life, she realized why she had fought those few, who, over the years since the funeral, had tried to get close to her. It wasn’t just a question of the timing, she realized, or the fear of losing her family once more, or a question of failing to connect with those around her. Maybe it wasn’t that she been hiding from people.

Maybe she’d just been waiting for the right ones to force their way in.

Sitting propped up against the pillows of her hospital bed, she did her best to straighten up, her voice deliberately taking on what she privately thought of as her ‘Command’ voice, that combination of teacher-ly authority and the assurance that came with being an expert in her own right.

‘I know you both want what’s best for me,’ she said, claiming their attention, taking the time to look them both directly in the eyes, holding their respective glances for that fraction of a second, a trick she’d learnt too long ago in Graduate School. ‘But in the end it’s my decision.’

She paused, partially to ensure she had their complete attention and partially to ensure she had control of her voice. It remained difficult to breath, and she wanted to ensure that what she had to say came through clearly and calmly. She wanted this badly, maybe too badly, she realized, and she needed to ensure that they both understood that she was determined to pursue this course, whatever the cost.

‘I appreciate your concern, Dr. Fledgle, but,’ and here she cut her physician off before she could again list all her objections to their plan, ‘I’m sure, with _your_ help, and that of the Admiral’s Dr. Cottle, we can find a way to make my - ,’ _final moments_ ‘- uuh, time on the _Valkyrie_ as comfortable as possible.’

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. ‘I can await the results of Dr. Baltar’s tests on the _Valkyrie_ as easily as I can here, and at least I’ll be distracted from wondering what’s in them.’

Suddenly struck by a moment of indecision, she looked uncertainly at Bill. ‘Unless I’ll be in the way…’

Once again the calm certainty in his presence reassured her. ‘Wouldn’t have offered if you would be.’

Satisfied, she turned her gaze once again to fully face the remarkable young woman who’d provided her with such care. She realized in that moment that at least someone in this bureaucratic maze of the Caprican health care system would be sad to see her go, not just as a patient but as a person. It was a remarkable feeling. Only now did she appreciate how grateful she was for that.

‘I know there are complications inherent in making such a trip,’ she reassured her, ‘but I’d like to try. Given the help of all of you, if I’m careful, could we not manage a way to do this?’

Hearing the threat of tears in her own voice, she struggled to hold it together.

‘I’d really like to try.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me regarding anything other than logistics, either here or at @RandomBks


	6. Logistics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only a short update, mainly in preparation for what's coming. You really didn't think Laura was getting out of that hospital room without paying penance, did you? I'm doubt she did, either, so prepare yourself for an unwelcome but not entirely unexpected visitor.

In the end, Laura was surprised how smoothly and quickly everything went. Though with Fledgle, Bill and Billy working in concert, she thought, she really shouldn’t have been. Determined as they were, and as adept as they were, the three people closest to her could have moved mountains once she’d made her wishes clear. In any case, the resources they needed weren’t that overly hard for three people of that caliber to find.

The real stickler had been the shuttle she would need to get to Adama’s massive ship, particularly since Laura refused to be carted aboard like a piece of luggage or a reanimated corpse. She refused to be transported about tied to any number of IV drips and oxygen tubes. She insisted on a little more dignity than that. Plus, she was feeling so much better and she didn’t intent to keel over after making it this far. They’d simply have to find a way to get her there with some sense of normalcy, though both of her protectors insisted on additional (and, she thought, frankly unnecessary) precautions. They insisted it would ease their minds, though, so she acquiesced.

In return, she agreed, with only minimal protest, to be taken immediately to Dr. Cottle upon her arrival on the _Valkyrie_. She was curious, in any case, to meet this miracle worker in whom Bill placed so much faith, and he used this natural curiosity against her. Sherman Cottle had apparently known Bill for several decades, and she was determined to see what stories she could pull out of him. Bill had also played shamelessly on her sense of guilt, arguing that it would put Fledgle so much more at ease should she know her patient had been transferred immediately to the care of another health care professional.

(She personally felt that ‘health care professional’ was a contradiction in terms, but she’d decided to turn over a new leaf and embrace those trying to help her, so she refrained from pointing that out.)

So they found a way. _Finally_ , less than twelve hours after she’d made her decision, she sat, waiting, in the same hospital room in which she’d awakened, while Adama and Billy made the final arrangements. Bill would take her up, but her young friend would there in a few days, having gratefully accepted an invitation to join them. He was apparently eager to see the massive military installation which was the subject of such myth and legend in Colonial society. 

Meanwhile, as she waited, Laura stared out the window, daydreaming, intent on enjoying the gentle breeze and the scent of the ocean it brought with it. It would be a while before she smelt fresh air again, and though she was eager to experience all that would come with this final adventure, she was also determined to enjoy these last moments of the fragrant coastal air.

Distracted, she failed to immediately notice the tall man in a black suit who strode aggressively into her room. She snapped her focus back, however, as he spoke quickly into the microphone attached to his watch. Barely deigning to glance her way, he cleared the room before confirming;

‘Room is secure.’

Frak. Clearly she hadn’t moved fast enough.

The first man was followed shortly by four more; each dressed identically, only one of whom bothered to catch her eye in acknowledgement. It was the focus in their eyes which shouted ‘bodyguard’ to Laura, but then she had some experience in this area. Their clothing though, also betrayed them; black suits, white shirts and narrow black ties. She knew most people, though would have first noticed their earpieces and the shoulder harnesses. They protruded out of their jackets, almost aggressively ruining the line of their suits.

The tallest of them, who happened to be both the oldest and the only one to consistently treat her as an actual human being, again met her eye.

‘Madame Secretary.’

She nodded in response.

‘Agent Stone.’

She struggled to keep her clear, her thoughts to herself.

 _Frak_.

She wondered how far the _Valkyrie_ orbited above Caprica. However far it was, it wasn’t enough. She smiled wryly to herself. Maybe she could convince Bill that they needed to go on an extended cruise beyond the Red Line.

_You know, for her mental health. She was probably going to be a little stressed after she strangled the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol._

Still, she knew that even an extended tour of outer space wouldn’t do the trick. She’d made her bed, and now she was stuck with Adar.

The man in question strode confidently into the room, his smile assuring her that she was the _most_ important person on any of the twelve planets colonized long ago by the peoples of Kobol.

She smiled weakly in return.

_Frakity frak._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at @RandomBks.


	7. Hangovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, now that I've transferred over everything from LiveJournal (on a side note, WTF, LiveJournal?) I've decided to move forward with being more consistent with plotting / scheduling. Thus, I'm committing to updating this every Wednesday. If, for some reason, this hasn't been updated on a particular Wednesday, I'm counting on you to YELL at me; i.e. "Get off Twitter and do some writing!" Yell at me, people, and much thanks in advance for your help in forcing my brain to focus :)
> 
> Structure, who knew, right?

Richard Adar wasn’t overly tall, though his bearing and demeanour made him appear more imposing than he was, a trick he’d mastered long ago to for TV appearances. Handsome in that patrician vein which best suited successful politicians, his presence emanated a quiet strength. As with any good public figure, he appeared ageless, his trim physique maintained through the vigorous abstention from all but the most restrictive of diets and a consistent, if low-impact, exercise schedule. His short cropped white hair and the lines at his eyes were the only indicators of his true age, ten years older than Laura.

‘Madame Secretary,’ he greeted her effusively, his voice a combination of honey and velvet, which betrayed nothing of his background, which had been less than august, and which he’d spend years of effort erasing. Instead his voice was enhanced by the accent of only the toniest of Caprican elites. It was funny, she thought. From the quick research Billy had done, Bill Adama _had_ grown up as a member of the Caprican elite, one which was reflective of his father’s fame, or infamy, as _the_ top defence attorney of the Twelve Colonies. Yet he never seemed to flaunt it. It appeared that Caprican upbringing or not, his family had stressed the need for him to remember his Tauron roots. Adar, in contrast, had done his best to obliterate any hint of his upbringing.

‘Mr. President, what an,’ _unwelcome_ ‘unexpected surprise,’ Laura responded cautiously.

‘Laura, Laura. As if I could leave you here to languish alone in this sterile hospital room.’ He glanced around the private room of one of the prestigious hospitals in Caprica, perhaps even on any of the Colonies, as though expecting to find plague-ridden corpses hidden in the corner.

‘Too kind, Mr. President,’ she murmured in response, reminding herself that she need only get through this meeting before making good her escape. Still, she wondered how fast she could get him out of here. She hoped suddenly that Bill’s calls would take longer than expected. The last thing she wanted was to have him run into her former… boss.

‘Not to worry, Laura, they’ll soon have you back on your feet and at your rightful place ordering me around,’ he continued with false joviality, ignoring her obviously weakened state.

She as sure the doctors’ reports he’d badgered her into sending him twice a week had laid out the brutal truth of her condition, not to mention the fact that she was certain Baltar reported his findings to Adar before even her. The close ties between the two men were legendary, and she’d always wondered what they were plotting in those long meetings Richard had arranged to discuss things, ‘best understood by men.’

‘Forgive me, Mr. President,’ she interrupted gently, ‘but it’s unlikely I’ll be back anytime soon.’

 _And thank heavens for small mercies._ Even if it hadn’t been for the cancer, she knew she’d be looking for a new purpose by now.

‘Nonsense.’

As usual, Adar demonstrated his uncannily persistent ability to believe whatever he chose. Or maybe he simply enjoyed mocking her, she thought wryly. Gods knew he’d been anything but helpful this last year.

She’d hoped when he walked in that this was simply the last in a long line of photo-ops, meant to position her erstwhile leader as a caring, compassionate leader, looking out for a gravely stricken colleague. However, it looked like her luck continued to be bad. He settled himself into Bill’s recently vacated chair, and she managed to resist, by the skin of her teeth, the urge to make a face.

‘Now, Laura,’ he drew her name out deliciously, as if to remind her of their long-term, though thankfully _long dead_ , intimacy. ‘One of the reasons I’ve come here is to begin the planning for your role on the campaign trail once we’ve sprung you from the land of the – ’

‘ – dying’, she finished for him.

‘ – indisposed.’

She wondered once again at his inability to face facts he didn’t like. More seriously, she wondered at his purpose here. It had been he who’d insisted she take an extended leave of absence due to her failing health. She’d wanted to simply to resign, but he’d insisted that this would allow her to continue to be kept up to date, kept accessible, and kept able to continue her long-time role of his advisor.

There been more to it, of course. Richard had never been afraid to play dirty. At the time, struck by the shock of her diagnosis and eager to ensure he lived up to their bargain regarding the deal she’d struck with the teacher’s union, she’d reluctantly agreed, unaware of just how far he’d intended to push his advantage.

It turned out Richard Adar’s campaign for a second term had not been going as well, not nearly as well, as they’d foreseen. Though it had been early days yet, with nine months to go before the General Election, the reports she’d received, even while undergoing her cancer treatments, not to mention what she'd overheard while waiting in his office, had indicated a rudderless ship, a mismanaged budget and a lacklustre fundraising campaign. In addition, every indication was that he was failing, spectacularly failing, at connecting with the electorate. And that, for Adar, represented a serious problem. His fabled ability to appeal to voters had long been one of his most bankable assets.

All of this meant that, to her considerable surprise, Laura and her presence in Adar’s office twice a week came to represent a serious asset to his campaign. Her presence there reminded people of something they’d forgotten in the midst of the innumerable scandals of Adar’s first term. They’d actually _liked_ him, once upon a time, and for some reason, Laura’s presence at his side brought that fact home. Though far from a natural politician, Laura Roslin had been respected throughout the Twelve Colonies, her presence on Adar’s Cabinet, even in a distinctly subordinate position, was perceived as a genuine attempt on his part to address the serious problems that faced its far-flung peoples. People _trusted_ Secretary Roslin, admired her. More than that, fundamentally they _respected_ her.

Despite her apparent usefulness, Adar, subconsciously at least, had come to see Laura as a threat over the the term of his administration. She’d finally come to realize that, though it had taken her longer than most. The veil over her eyes had finally dropped on the eventful day during which she had successfully resolved the teachers’ strike. It was the same day a very serious doctor in a very white and very bare office had informed her that she had less than a year to live.

As the filters built by twenty years of friendship and suffocating intimacy had been stripped away by his brutal reaction to those events, Laura had struggled to deal with both the shock of the revelations and the loss of her closest remaining friend. She’d struggled even more with the consequences that had followed. Adar may have needed her, but he also resented her, which in his mind meant that he still had to _own_ her.

Sitting by her hospital bed now, he prattled on regarding his campaign strategy, key of which seemed to be her public presence, the deterioration of her health notwithstanding. She found it surprisingly easy to tune him out, though the underlying problem remained. _How to get rid of him before Bill returned?_

Adar, distracted by the question of his polling numbers and the question of which events would therefore be best served by her presence at his side, was oblivious to her lack of attention. He was oblivious to anything beyond his own voice, frankly, thought Laura, which perhaps explained why he failed to note the unmistakable change in the atmosphere in the room. His agents noticed, though. As one, they snapped to alertness before her very eyes as they reacted to developments in the hallway.

 _Well_ , she thought wryly seeing the shadow of Bill Adama at her door, _it looks like I’ve run out of time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hells, come yell at me, anyway. It's fun to have human contact, especially from fellow Colonials. I'm also at [@RandomBks](https://twitter.com/RandomBks)


	8. Consequences Which Might Possibly Have Been Foreseen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look - it's Wednesday :) Enjoy!

_Well_ , she thought wryly seeing the shadow of Bill Adama at her door, _it looks like I’ve run out of time_.

It was surprising, really, that such a quiet man could command such presence, though really, it shouldn't be. His low, gravelly voice could grab the attention of everyone in the room, even while he failed to raise it.

‘Excuse me,’ he said firmly, but oh so quietly, to the tall Secret Service agent at the door to her hospital room.

It happened to be the one who’d first cleared the room, his tall form looming over Bill but clearly failing to move him. The difference in height was striking, the agent in question possessing a good six inches over the older man, the extra height giving him a longer reach and the ability to look down his nose at her Admiral. Though Adama was significantly bulkier, an unperceptive observer might assume the advantage lay with the younger, taller, leaner, man. They would have been wrong. In any case, Laura was far from an unperceptive observer. In any confrontation, the agent, Secret Service or not, was outmatched.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the agent responded, ‘you are not cleared to enter this room.’

‘He’s with me,’ Laura called out, hoping to avoid any escalation of what was already bound to be an awkward encounter. ‘You can let him in.’

Agent Stevens leaned in, being careful to include Laura in his clarification.

‘I’m sorry, Madame Secretary. He has to be cleared before he can access the President.’

She sighed internally. Given the fact that Bill had weekly meetings with the President in his private office, not to mention the fact that he was an active, high-ranking officer in the Colonial forces, there was clearly something more going on here. Keeping her eyes focused on Adar, she spoke quietly to the head of his security.

‘I’m sure he would be happy to make that happen,’ she said as she made a quiet gesture in reference to the President.

‘Sorry, ma’am, there have been some recent activity on the message boards we don’t fully understand, and thus we are not comfortable – ‘

Laura had been distracted by the byplay with Stevens and his security team, so she was almost startled to hear the deep voice project itself once again from the entrance to the room.

‘The woman in that bed?’ He spoke to the agent in front of him, but it clear he meant for all of the occupants to hear him. ‘I go where she goes.’

Silence followed his pronouncement, the stalemate between the two alpha males at the door ratcheting up the tension in the room as they all measured their options.

‘Make your choice, son,’ Adama continued softly, his voice this time seemed barely to penetrate beyond the small bubble between him and the Secret Service agent.

The subtext was clear nevertheless. _Either you get out of my way or I’ll put you into the wall._

She could see it as the younger man made the conscious decision to comply with Adama’s unspoken command, evidenced at first only by the nearly imperceptible shift of his weight to allow him the freedom to move out the way of the deadly predator in his face. At that moment, Adar spoke for the first time.

‘Let him through.’

He smiled his politician’s smile once more, his charm and his intervention meant to obscure the fact that he’d clearly lost command of the situation at hand.

Bill, meanwhile, had stalked quietly into the room, as if the result of the small confrontation at the door had never truly been in doubt. Striding directly up to the small group at Laura’s side, he then moved to stand at full attention before his Commander-in-Chief.

‘Mr. President.’

Even at full attention, his body drawn into the most correct of poses, his eyes nevertheless failed to meet Adar’s, focusing instead on Laura’s instead for a fraction of a second before turning, resolutely, to focus, as was correct, on the far wall to the side of the President.

 _I’m right here_ , she could hear him say to her, as clearly as if he’d said it out loud. _And here we go_ , she thought.

She could read Adar’s reaction in his face. It was one skill she’d always possessed. She could read his frustration, even if it was unlikely that a casual observer or even a political opponent would see it. Richard Adar didn’t like being interrupted, never had. He also didn’t like being contradicted. He hated losing control of the situation, and even with Adama still standing at full attention, the very picture of deference, it was clear Bill had taken command of the day. Finally, more than anything, Adar hated being ignored, hated not be the most important, most sought after, most popular, person in a room, hated not being the centre of attention and deference. It was a trend that had only intensified after he'd taken over the Office of President. It was one of his least admirable traits, a nerve that Adama had unerringly hit within a minute of observing him. 

So quietly she almost didn't notice, Adar clicked his tongue, one of his few tells. She’d even told him about that one, back when they were on better terms and he’d seen her more of a partner and less of a subordinate. She’d always joked it allowed her to beat him at Triad they’d played religiously in those days, and yet, he’d never been able to control that small tick.

‘Ah, yes, Admiral… Adama, isn’t it?’

Ironically, she’d taught him that, the use of this pretense of failing to remember an opponent’s name, an effective way of putting them immediately on the defensive. She’d give him that, he’d always been a quick learner.

‘Sir.’

Bill apparently had tricks of his own, and given what she’d heard of the epic battles within the Admiralty, she wasn’t surprised. Still standing at attention, a pose she knew he would not deviate from until told directly to do so by his Commander-in-Chief, his face appeared as if carved from granite, his glorious blue eyes firmly fixed in a thousand year stare. He was giving Richard nothing to work with, while seemingly granting every courtesy and deference. She felt a moment of surging pride. He must be a tremendous Triad player and she couldn't wait to find out for herself.

It was Richard who broke first.

‘Forgive me, Admiral, I wasn’t aware you and Secretary Roslin were acquainted.’

He glanced from one to the other, and Laura, determined not to let down her side, focused on ensuring that Richard read nothing from her she didn’t intend him to.

Knowing Adama couldn’t (or, depending on your read of the situation, _wouldn’t_ ), respond, she stepped into the fray.

‘We’re old friends,’ she said softly, responding to Richard’s unspoken command that they explain their relationship.

The less they gave him, the less he’d have to work with. Information was fuel to Richard. She intended to starve him. By the time he made the connections she feared, she’d be long gone. Let him think what he would.

He turned his attention fully over to her.

‘Old friends? Really, Laura, I’d thought I knew the full extent of your connections. We’ve been… close, for so long.’

Ignoring the dig (though she knew Bill had caught it, which was only appropriate, given it was meant for him), she simply smiled again.

‘Indeed.’

‘Given the,’ he glanced at Bill, ’unusual nature of this connection, I’m especially surprised. I’m surprised you didn’t regale me with the full story of your meeting. I’m sure it was… eventful.’

 _Well, it involved six months of eye-frakking while waiting in your windowless waiting room for equally painful meetings with you_ , she thought. She’d always noticed the charismatic man in the full Colonial dress greys, though she had been determined to let it go no further than that. Tilting her head at her long-time… friend, she looked at him with only slight disdain.

‘Indeed. Bill and I bonded after we discovered the many interests we have in common.’

 _Like resisting the urge to tell you to go frak yourself,_ she imagined.

‘Indeed. I wonder… Oh, for frak’s sake,’ he snapped at Bill. ‘At ease, soldier.’

‘Sir.’

A moment passed, though, before Bill shifted his position to that proscribed for a serving Colonial officer at ease, in this case, one that resembled no more than the slightest shift to almost equally formal position. It was clear he wanted it clear to Adar that he was responding to the Office of the President, rather than its occupant.

When it was clear that neither Laura nor her mysterious soldier had any intention of giving in to his unspoken demands for his respect or intended to satisfy his unspoken demand for further information on their relationship, Adar straightened in his chair, his increasing frustration now visible in the deeper crinkles visible at the corner of his eyes.

‘Well, as I’m certain you understand, Admiral, Secretary Roslin and I have some matters to discuss. If you’d wait outside…’

‘No. Sir.’

‘No? Sir? Mr. Adama…’

‘Apologies, Mr. President, but Secretary Roslin and I have decided that any matters relating to her health are to be discussed in my presence. In order to ensure that my input is properly received.’

Surprised, Richard turned to her. ‘What? Laura, who exactly is this man to you?’

While it wasn't strictly true that she'd agreed to have Bill granted unimpeded _input_ on her treatment, she wasn't going to turn down his help while dealing with the frakweasel lingering in front of her. In addition, knowing Adama as she did, she recognized the stubborn set of his shoulders and she knew he had no intention of going anywhere. She'd given him an inch, and he intended to take his mile. Given the situation, she couldn't force herself to mind it that much. She’d remind him of her ability to make her own decisions later, but for now… She’d let him see it through.

‘Admiral Adama’s input is always welcome,’ was all she said.

‘Laura…’ Richard interjected, but he got no further before Bill quietly interrupted.

‘Secretary Roslin and I have found it extremely useful to discuss these issues thoroughly before coming to decisions on her care.’

_Careful, Bill, don't poke the bear._

‘Since when?’ Adar demanded, his voice inching higher in frustration and shock. He’d never liked being the last to know anything. He turned to Laura, his anger increasingly with every second. For Adama to cut him out like this…

‘Laura, I’m asking you again. Who is this man and why are you allowing him to interfere like this?’

‘Secretary Roslin - '

‘Admiral Adama!’

Richard drew himself up in the cheap grey hospital chair and Laura watched as he almost tangibly drew the cloak of his office around him. She’d seen him do it before, draw his persona of the President unto his being, forcing those around him to remember his position and his responsibilities. She’d always admired that ability, had sought to use it herself when she’d wanted to impress her opponents that she was in command of the situation. She was surprised he hadn’t done so sooner; Adama was clearly determined to push him to the edge. In any event, looking at Bill, she wasn't surprised to see that Adar's trademark intimidation tactic wasn't having the desired effect. His outburst may have succeeded in silencing her newfound gargoyle momentarily, but as for intimidating him…that was another story.

Adar, oblivious to her ruminations, continued.

‘I don’t know why you’re under the impression that you can disregard the chain of command, but I would remind you that I am in fact the President, and you would do well to remove yourself, forthwith, in order that I might confer with my colleague.’

 _Forthwith_. Laura smiled internally. It seemed Bill really had the uncanny ability to push at Adar's buttons. Still, given that she'd had already decided to intervene, this seemed an opportune time. She was looking forward to resolving things with Richard in any case. She’d simply let her, let’s face it, unholy glee in seeing Richard dumbfounded, get in the way.

 _Enough, Laura_ , she thought reluctantly. _You’ve had your fun_. It was time to behave like an adult. Before she could remind her bickering ‘caregivers’ of who was really making decisions, however, she heard again that deep gravelly voice interject.

‘Respectfully, Mr. President, perhaps I haven't been clear in regards to my role here. When it comes to Laura's well-being, my responsibilities to her as her primary caregiver outrank my obligations to you as my Commander-in-Chief.’

 _Honestly_ , Laura thought in exasperation, _he could have simply dropped a grenade in the room if he wanted to start this kind of shit_. And that was putting aside the fact that they had not yet determined exactly what their connection to each other entailed. She’d deliberately steered away from discussing the nature of their relationship with him during this entire time, and now he was using this conflict with Adar to force to acknowledge the implications of what they were doing. Given the context, he might as well have declared he was claiming the privileges and duties of a spouse with his last statement, and they, in addition to Richard, both knew it. She gave him a look that attempted to clearly indicate that they'd be having words later about his tactics in forcing her hand. She knew she'd succeeded when he defiantly raised his left brow, if only by a fraction, at her in response.

_Oh, yes, Admiral. We will most definitely be having words later._

Meanwhile, as Richard looked shell-shocked, Bill _frakking_ Adama looked like the cat that’d swallowed the canary, though he hid it so well she was sure she was the only one to see it.

‘Your primary caregiver??? Laura, enough with the frakking games. What is going on here? You can’t tell me that you seriously expect me to believe…’ She saw his mind working furiously to catch up, putting together patterns and evaluating trends. ‘No. Adama here,’ he almost spat it, ‘has only been posted on Caprica for what, less than a year? The Admiralty had managed to keep him off on exploration duties for over two years,’ he muttered to himself. ‘So that means,’ he continued, piercing her with his icy blue eyes, ‘you couldn’t have known him until… godsdamn it, did the two of you hook up in my frakking office?!?!’

Laura resisted the urge to grin at him. Damn it. Hoisted on her own petard. It was one of the tings she’d always admired about Adar, one of the things which had always drawn her to him, even after the spectacular flame-out of their decades-long friendship. Richard Adar. Always too smart for his own good. Always too eager to make sure people knew it.

She really should resist, but Lords of Kobol she really didn’t want to. Frak it. She was dying anyway. She should be allowed to live a little first, shouldn’t she? Looking up at Richard, she gave him that arch look which always driven him wild. Across the Cabinet table or in her bed, it had never mattered. He’d fallen for it every time. She resisted the urge to tell him that she had indeed hooked up with Bill _in his frakking office_ , and instead calmly addressed her erstwhile former leader and paramour.

‘Richard. We need to talk.’

And while she'd enjoyed this interlude, it wasn't something they could do with an audience.

‘Admiral.’

Though she’d pitched her voice low, he snapped his focus immediately back to her. ‘Madame Secretary.’

She wished she could reassure him. She’d always been able to deal with Richard. He'd always respected her, at least until recently, respected the fact she was smarter than he, was even if he was better at people, their long-standing relationship having been built on that very foundation. Though she knew that Bill couldn’t help but view him as a threat, he didn’t understand that Adar could no longer hurt her. He no longer held any leverage over her, and she hoped Bill was able to read that.

Looking over at her knight-errant, she hoped he understood what she was asking of him. Though she would never have expected it, Bill seemed willing to acquiesce to her unspoken request. Meeting her eyes solemnly, he nodded, clearly respecting the command present there. The silence grew between them a moment before he dipped his head at her again in an almost unnoticeable but deferential bow of fealty before turning his gaze back to Adar. Returning to his earlier pose of attention, he held it a moment, deliberately making a point of giving Richard all the honors due the sitting President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. He then glanced at her for a fraction of a second before pivoting sharply and walking slowly from the room.

She waited for the door to click softly shut behind him before sighing softly. She then turned to the man who she had once considered her greatest friend... She’d never thought herself capable of a Grand Passion, but for the longest time she’d had thought her relationship with Adar would the closest she would ever get to it.

She’d been wrong.


	9. Hurry Up and Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we also start to meet some old friends...

‘- we’ve completed the newest training sessions without a hitch, though I’m going to have words with Kelly. The latest C.A.P.s with the rooks was still sloppy, and I think he’s letting it slide.’

‘Un-huh.’

Bill tried to focus on his Executive Officer’s briefing, though he was finding it more difficult by the moment. 

‘…Plus, prodigy or not, if Starbuck showboats one more time, I’m putting her on twelve by twelves.’

He glanced up at Saul Tigh, wondering if his oldest friend would ever see it. Starbuck was a hell of a pilot, better than he’d ever been, twice as good as Saul in his prime. But though the crew, and Adama himself for that matter, tended to see her as the Old Man’s spawn, the truth was that in personality and temperament, she was more Saul than anything else. Perhaps that’s why she got under his skin with such ease. She hit all the right buttons.

‘Un-huh.'

Bill sat in silence for another moment, hardly noticing the look of concern his oldest friend gave him, before returning his eyes to the linoleum hospital floor at his feet. One moment stretched into another, but lost in his own thoughts, he barely noticed. He’d never been good at waiting.

_What the hells was taking so long?_

He found it hard to focus on his task at hand, even if that task happened to be sitting still. He would do as Laura had asked, even as the rage and worry warred within him, urging his body to do _something_ , _take control_. He was done with waiting. Done with this whole scene, with watching Adar walk all over everyone around him. Done with dealing with complications from the past, no matter how necessary it was to do so. More so, he was done with Laura's insistence on resisting when those around her tried to take some weight off her shoulders. It was time. He was done. Done with Laura's denial regarding the simple truth that he, Bill, was taking over as her support system, with all the rights and obligations that entailed. Done with her insistence with accommodating Adar, on tolerating him in her life when it was all she could do to make it through the day. Done with Laura refusing his help, Billy's, Fledgle's for that matter.

It was time for her to come to terms with the fact that she wasn't alone anymore.

_Yeah, don't think we're not going to talk about that later, Madame Secretary._

He'd no idea, really, how she'd come to mean so much to him in such a short period, but really, he'd stopped worrying about it the moment he'd blurted out the invitation to come spend whatever days she had left with him rattling around on the _Valkryie_. He'd simply decided it was necessary for his well-being to see to whatever comfort he could offer her, and if that meant pushing her to deal with their respective feelings a little faster than she was comfortable with, that was just too bad. She'd better find a way to deal with that, and soon, because they were running out of time. She may not be used to having someone to lean on, but godsdamn it, she was going to have to get used to it. She might own him, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to call her on her bullshit. 

He known the moment he'd walked into the room to find Adar breathing her air that she was only going to let him get away with so much, no matter how easy it would have been to deal, permanently, with the man's interference, much as he would have been delighted to do. He'd known in that moment that no matter how welcome she was to see him she'd no intention of letting him take over the task of removing that slimy shit from her life. Instead, she'd stepped in before he could finish the job, had insisted that he leave so she could eviscerate her former lover in private. (Or at least, not in front of him. He was sure the Secret Service Agents were getting an earful, however much they pretended not to.)

He snorted. Yeah, he'd caught that little aside on Adar's part regarding their past connection. The man had never been subtle, and honestly, you'd have to be an idiot not to read that subtext in the body language of the two old _friends_ , even if the President _hadn't_ been so keen to rub it in his face. 

No, he hadn't missed any part of the subtext that floating through that room. All of those hints of their longstanding _friendship_ had clearly been aimed at him, a reminder of all the rights that he could claim as part of the connection that stretched back decades, all the privileges that Laura had granted him over their years together, even without taking into account that they'd clearly spent a great deal of that time sleeping together. Still, Adar had been so eager to rub it in his face, he'd neglected two facts: the more he preened, the more disdainfully Laura treated him, and more importantly - 

Bill didn't give a shit.

Even if it hadn't already been done and dusted, which it clearly had been, it certainly was now. 

_Slimy shit._

It was Saul who finally broke into his thoughts.

‘So the Admiralty is okay with us leaving? They're done making you wait at the President's pleasure, twiddling your thumbs?’

Bill sighed, reflective, the anger draining out of him, at least partially. The _Valkyrie_ ’s crew could hardly have failed to notice when their standard re-supply at the Caprican air docks had been extended indefinitely. The fact that the Admiralty had seen fit to keep them quarantined for the first two months hadn’t gone unnoticed either. He grimaced. It had taken that entire time to get his crew sprung. His superiors had been in all kinds of a foul mood, and he’d eventually had to use some leverage of his own to convince them to stop punishing his crew for his failures. Meanwhile he’d found himself shuttling back and forth from his ship to the Admiralty to Adar’s office, the only variety in his routine the question of whether he’d be lucky enough to see _her_.

‘Seems so.’

He continued to stare at his hands, clasped lightly in front of him as sat forward in his chair, his elbows braced on his knees, trying to focus his rage, using it to drain out his worry. How long had it been? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? Every minute that passed worried him more. She’d seemed so certain that she could handle the situation, handle the prick who'd clung like a burr to her life, and he didn’t doubt her. Hadn’t since the moment he finally met her.

Still.

_Then why was it taking so frakking long?_

A part of him wanted to barge in, worried she’d passed out again and they’d neglected to call for help, let alone call him. It was a stupid thought. He knew it. Adar might be a prick, but he wasn’t irresponsible, let alone stupid. Plus, everything Bill had gathered from the by-play between him and Laura had indicated that he cared about her, even if he had a hell of a way of showing it. A part of him wondered if the man had already been that stupid, though it was hard to ignore the obvious fact that he would have had to have been, given how they'd all ended up here.

Still, the nagging worry kept pushing at his brain. 

_Laura. Laura. Laura._

_What was taking so godsdamned long?_

_She could take care of herself_ , he reminded himself. _Trust Laura_ , his gut told him. Barging in now would only make things difficult. Still… his heart wanted to protect her, his impulsive nature warring with his control he struggled to hold it in check. _Trust Laura_ , his gut told him again and again. She would hold her own. He knew that, had sensed it from the moment they’d met. When she toppled out of the damn chair at his feet. She’d fought him even then even when she was still struggling to breathe. While she lay in her hospital room dying of terminal cancer and teased Billy about denying her access to her coffee and made sure he was looked after when she was gone. Even then she’d been determined not to have others determine her fate.

_Trust Laura_ , his gut told him. _She can handle herself. She's not looking for you to protect her. She’s looking for you to support her. Support her and know when to get the hells out of her way._

He sighed again. _Godsdamn it_. Doing it her way was so much harder. It would be so much easier, simpler, to deal with Adar himself. It was only Laura's insistence that he leave her to handle it that kept him from marching back into that room and removing him from the equation. He allowed himself to imagine it for a second. It would be so satisfying, even if he couldn’t punch him in the face.

_Trust Laura_.

Damn it.

Well, no one said that falling in love with a woman that remarkable would be easy. He’d do as she’d asked. He’d respect her ability to handle this problem herself, as she’d clearly been able to do in the past.

_Stubborn ass woman._

‘Bill?’

He glanced up at his X.O., waiting for him to continue. They’d know each other too long, over thirty years. Saul knew when to talk and when to wait. If he was going to interrupt now... Well, Saul Tigh knew him too well not to know when he was worried.

‘This woman… unh, Secretary Roslin. She’s… unh, you’re sure she wants to come spend her time rattling around an old battlestar?’

_You’re sure you want her there?_ He heard clearly in what Saul was asking. He heard the subtext easily and let his amusement take over a little, grateful for the distraction from the worry. He also knew Saul was concerned, had been for months, as the Admiralty had shown no interest in letting him out of purgatory. He’d seen the concern grow over the long weeks they'd spent in orbit over Caprica, had seen it grow as Saul had delivered his daily reports in the hallways of this hospital this last week. Idly, he smiled internally at the memory of the moment his old friend had understood that all of their worlds were about to shift permanently. Saul had hid it well (for Saul) but the shock on his face the first time, when he’d delivered the paperwork currently tucked in the briefcase currently sitting at Bill’s feet, had found him sitting next to a baby-faced Billy at the bedside of a mysterious, unconscious woman ... Priceless. Still, Bill knew that, as always, his oldest friend was trying to force him to look before he leapt. The _Valkyrie_ was his home, or the closest thing to it he’d had in a long, long time, and he’d known Laura… well, not that long. He was taking an incredible leap of faith by inviting a woman he'd only really known a month or so to take up residence indefinitely.

Despite that...

‘She’s sure.’

_I’m sure._

‘And it’s a state-of-the art battlestar,' he reminded his old friend with only a hint of a grin. Until recently, his pride and joy. 'Make sure we’re prepped and ready, we’ll be leaving after the conclusion of her meeting.’

_Whenever in the hells that might be._

_Stubborn ass woman._

‘Yes sir.’ Saul paused. ‘Starbuck's waiting. She wants to enhance her Raptor certification.’

Both men smiled. Starbuck had as much interest in Raptors as an eagle had in crawling. She could pilot a Raptor with her eyes closed, and had been able to do so since she’d first set foot in one. In comparison to piloting a Viper, Raptors were child’s play. So, no, Starbuck didn’t care about her Raptor certification. She did have, he was sure, an interest in meeting the woman that the Old Man had gone to such lengths to bring aboard. So did Saul and the majority of the crew, if he wasn't mistaken. The rumour mill must be running at full tilt.

He nodded. He trusted Starbuck, not only as a pilot but for her loyalty, and, in all regards to matters not pertaining directly to herself, for her clear reading of almost every situation.

‘Advise her we’ll be leaving within the hour.’

Even if he had to kill the President of the Colonies to get them out of here.

Saul nodded sharply then turned to leave, his long strides making quick work of the small area.

‘Oh, and Saul,’ as his oldest friend turned to look at him, Bill could read the wariness in his eyes and he smiled wryly. ‘Remind Starbuck of Secretary Roslin’s condition. No showboating. Of any kind.’

‘I’ll remind her, though given who she'll be piloting, she'll be disappointed .’

They smiled at each other before Saul left to follow his direction. Left by himself once again, Bill pondered the meeting of the two most remarkable women in his life. He wondered what Laura would make of his Kara. More than that, he wondered she would make of Lee, though given his stubborn-ass son, it seemed unlikely that meeting would be happening any time soon.

He glared at the hospital room door, which still remained stubbornly closed. It had to have been almost an hour by now.

_Damn it. What the frak were they doing in there?_

It was so much harder to do this her way, no matter how much he trusted her to wrestle her own demons.

_Stubborn ass woman._

The sooner they got her out of here, the better.

As if on cue, the door slammed open, Adar striding out in a huff, his security following close behind him.

_Looks like that went well_.

Bill took care to stand quickly at attention, sure not to look Adar in the eye, always keeping him in his peripheral vision nonetheless. Adar barely glanced his way, though, as his entourage blew past him, and Bill decided he could afford to stop worrying about the frakweasel for the moment. He was mostly concerned with how he would find Laura, and he couldn't quite fight the dread he felt as he moved quickly to find her. It was time.

Whether she liked it or not, he was taking over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill at this point: 
> 
> Let's GOOOO!!


	10. Coffee and Cigarettes

She could tell she looked like shit. Even a man as stoic as Bill Adama gave away the occasional tell. The ever so quick, ever so slight, widening of his glorious eyes might have been missed by anyone not paying attention, but Laura was definitely paying attention. It was gone in an instant, that quick look of concern, but as she saw it, she knew she was in deep trouble.

He said not a word, though, as he calmly crossed the room before returning to his accustomed seat in the chair next to her bed.

‘Madame Secretary,’ he said quietly, as if continuing their previous conversation, as if the previous few hours had never occurred. ‘We should be ready to depart momentarily.’

Looking at him, she tried to keep her face impassive, impressed despite herself that he’d managed to keep from asking the hundreds of questions she could almost feel running through his brain.

He quietly quirked his bow at her as he gazed at her, and those unspoken questions reverberated through the room, almost louder than if he’d actually asked them out loud.

‘That is, if you’re still coming. If you’re still up for this.’

She smiled. Ever the gentleman, supportive of whatever she’d decided to do.

‘Thank you, Admiral. Yes, I too will be happy when we are finally on our way.’

His broad smile, as quick as it was deep, was all the warmth she could have asked for. Aware that the orderlies were most likely on their way, with that dreaded wheelchair she’d been unable to talk either him or her doctor out of, she was happy to leave it at that.

She did wonder, though.

‘There’s nothing you need to have clarified before we leave?’

About Adar, about her relationship with him, past and present, about her ‘treatments’ with Gaius Baltar? About what exactly their own relationship entailed. They had to have that conversation, that much was clear after the meeting with Adar. She was sure she was up to it at this exact moment, but if it was time...

If he needed to. She’d find a way to push through. She’d done it before.

‘Laura.’

She relaxed as she heard her name on his lips, the sound of it in the rich timbre of his voice a welcome relief to her jangled nerves.

‘There’s nothing you would ever have to clarify for me.’

He grinned, the impact on his stern face always a surprise to her.

‘Besides. Once I have you safely on my ship, I’ll have all the time in the world to get you to spill your secrets.’

The sense of relief made her laugh, a welcome change from the unease she could feel in her bones as she heard her doctor and the orderlies make their way down the hall. He already knew her deepest secret, had since she’d woke up in this room. The rest was mere details. Details they would need to clarify, whether he was ready to push it or not, though it seemed he was reluctant to do it as she was running on fumes. They had a great deal further to travel today, after all. Still, it was fun to see him in a mood to tease. She was sure she was one of the few granted that privilege. Such a serious persona he used to hide the hot shot Viper pilot she could see at times struggling to break free.

‘You underestimate me, Bill.’

His calm assurance never wavered, and neither did his gaze.

‘Never, Laura.’

***

Though she later found it hard to remember the details of her trip to the _Valkyrie_ , as even the pain from her aching bones was barely able to break through the exhaustion and relief as they transferred her at each stage. She zoned out a bit, drifting away in a haze of pain as they moved them from the wheelchair to the ambulance to the Colonial shuttle en route to the massive warship in orbit above Caprica.

Finally, she closed her eyes and waited for it to simply be over, never wavering in her certainty that this was the right path for her, even if it killed her. She knew that Dr. Fledgle had feared exactly that, but it seemed she was determined to prove her young doctor wrong. Before long, she was walking, albeit slowly, through the A-shaped halls of Bill’s Battlestar, his arm her only support as they made their way past grey, slanted walls to meet his chief medical officer. He made it a point of trying to distract her, entertaining her with humorous warnings regarding Cottle’s bedside manner, but she could read the concern on his face.

Hoping to reassure him, she focused on the one subject she really wanted to know. She’d failed to notice much on her way here, but the petite blonde pilot of her shuttle could never fail to make an impression. The pilot, Starbuck? (Surely not). She was fascinating. Even if Laura hadn’t been interested in everything involving Bill's life, she could hardly have failed to notice the warmth with which her host had dealt with the young blonde firecracker. It made her smile, the familiarity with which they’d greeted each other, the warmth which clearly underlay their banter. Their banter had a rhythm to it, she’d noticed, something that told her they’d entered into this gentle, easy banter regularly.

The speculation in the young pilot’s eyes when she’d looked at Laura, though; that she was sure was new. She, Laura, she was the new addition to this game. It didn’t bother her, not really; anything other than outright speculation given her presence would have been unrealistic. It make her skin itch a little, but, given that the entire crew followed her with their eyes from the minute she stepped aboard the _Valkryie_ , and given her earlier introduction to Saul Tigh, the feeling soon became somewhat routine. It also reassured her, to a certain degree. So. His crew clearly cared for him deeply, were proud of him, saw him as the leader of their makeshift family. She wondered what that was like.

It also seemed Admiral Adama didn’t often bring women home to meet the family.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a warm glow at that thought.

Her reverie was broken as they entered sickbay and though she tried to avoid it, she cringed, just a little bit, hoping it didn’t show. More doctors. More needles. More pity. Great. If the stares of the crew had been as a heavy, slightly itchy blanket, those of the sick bay attendants reminded her of a thousand pinpricks. She could hear them thinking, assessing, wondering what was wrong with her, reminding her once again of the circumstances she could not control. She’d never been religious, and she still wasn’t, really, but sometimes she could help but wonder.

_Oh, dear Lords of Kobol, what did I do to end up here?_

She winced even more when she saw the older man, a scowl seemingly permanently etched on his face, walk up to her.

_Here we go._

It appeared Bill hadn’t been exaggerating regarding those tales of woe for those stuck with Sherman Cottle. A less empathetic doctor she’d yet to meet. And she’d met a few.

‘So you’re the one,’ he said as he stomped up to her, a lit cigarette dangling from his lip.

She nodded. _Yes. I’m the one._

He examined her more closely, and she felt again that sense of being a specimen, and a not entirely welcome one at that. A specimen who’d wandered into the wrong lab.

‘Well, then, young lady, let’s get started. You can tell me what you expect me to find that all those fancy Caprican doctors missed.’

She smiled. Well, at least they’d have that in common. She followed the direction of his pointed hand, seeing a small cubicle, portioned with green curtains. As she let go of Bill’s arm, preparing to turn herself over to Cottle's gentle ministrations, she turned to tell Bill not to bother waiting, but Cottle beat her to it.

‘You can go, Admiral. I’m sure the young lady and I can take it from here.’

Although Bill looked as though he might object, he apparently decided it was a lost cause. Looking directly at her, he told Cottle to call for ‘Dr. Roslin’s’ escort when they were through, informing them, (or reassuring her, she wasn’t quite sure which one), that he’d be in the C.I.C. As she had no idea what that was, she simply murmured her thanks and watched dejectedly as he walked away, leaving her in Cottle’s capable (if not overly warm) hands. Meanwhile, she tried to remind herself that she wasn’t a lost puppy, even if she felt like one. She was a big girl. She could take care of herself.

Turning to face Cottle, she noted that he’d kept the cigarette dangling from his lips the entire time. Great. One of those.

‘Okay, then,’ he said around the stick of death protruding from his mouth. ‘Let’s see what we’re dealing with. Strip.’


	11. Valkryie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you care enough to send the very best...

Later, she reminded herself that she’d had worse doctors, even if, with the exception of Baltar, she couldn’t remember any of them. It was clear Cottle was an excellent doctor, though, a fact she struggled to remember as he poked her full of more holes than a pincushion and then shot her up with a dozen needles. The one in the butt, though, she refused to forgive, B-12 or not, though when she'd given the side-eye he'd done nothing but laugh. The exhaustion wasn’t helping her focus either, especially as, despite the overwhelming stench of nicotine, she’d fallen asleep several times during the examination, only to have him poke her awake. Seriously.

She wondered if he’d become a doctor just so he could poke and prod people. Also, guessing by his general demeanour, so that he could boss people around. He seemed to enjoy that part quite a bit, actually. Finally, though, he barked at her to ‘get out of his sick bay so he could tend to some actual sick people’ and then wandered off before she could respond.

Looking over at her escort, who looked only moderately bored by the four uneventful hours he’d just endured waiting nearby, she was just about to ask him to get Bill a message in the C.I.C. (she had to learn what that meant), when the petite blond pilot she'd met earlier and who'd piloted her shuttle strode in.

‘Sir,’ the young woman greeted her before conferring with Laura’s escort. There seemed to be a slight disagreement between the two, but it was apparent, even to Laura, that the Marine escort was outgunned. As she watched, her escort nodded at her before leaving Sickbay, even as her new friend turned to greet her with a smile.

‘Sir.’ Starbuck greeted her again, ‘If you’ll come with me; the Admiral has requested I escort you to your quarters.’ She smiled. ‘The Old Man’s stuck in C.I.C. for now, thought you’d like to see a friendly face.’

Laura quirked her left eyebrow at the younger woman, even as she followed her unspoken directions to proceed her out of the narrow hallways of Cottle’s domain.

‘And you volunteered?’

‘Yes, sir. Always like to be helpful.’

_I bet you do_ , Laura thought. The ship seemed busier, she noted, as she followed the pilot back into the halls, each step moving her further away from the protective confines of Cottle’s space. It had been a long day already, and though she knew it was still morning, her body was increasingly insistent that she rest. Her steps, already slow, took more and more out of her, and she was almost embarrassed at how grateful she was for Kara’s discreet assistance. The bubbly blond was clearly well like throughout the ship, judging from the nods and friendly salutes they received as they passed. Laura soon fell into a walking doze as they proceeded. Her guide kept up a cheerful narrative as they walked, and Laura once again pondered Bill’s way of showing care. He couldn’t have sent anyone more likely to put her at ease.

‘… and if the Admiralty ever gets off their assess, ‘cuse me sir, to send up on our way again, I’d like to have a better look at that asteroid field. My gut tells me…’

‘Sorry,’ Laura struggled to focus once more on the present. ‘I’m so sorry, remind me again of your name. I'm embarrassed I've forgotten it already.’

The blonde moved solicitously closer to her, a result, Laura knew, of the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure the older woman would be able to remain on her feet.

_Dear gods, do I look that bad?_

‘It’s Thrace, sir. Kara Thrace.’

‘But that’s not what they call you.’

She could still hear the echo of Thrace’s voice as she piloted the ship.

_‘Valkyrie, Starbuck. Requesting permission on approach. Do you copy?’_

‘No, sir. Most people just call me Starbuck.’

So she hadn’t imagined that, after all.

‘Starbuck?’

Right.

‘My call sign, sir.’ She looked over at Laura, one eyebrow half-raised as if she could imagine anyone not knowing what that meant. ‘ ‘cause I’m a pilot,’ and even though there was a question there, in the slight inflection of the word, Laura knew it was due to her ignorance rather than to Kara's confusion as to her profession.

‘So. It’s just pilots then. That have these… call signs?’

‘Well, mostly, though most people in the Fleet have a nickname or two.’

_‘Valkryie, Starbuck. Be advised I have Valkyrie on approach.’_

‘You told the ship you had _Valkyrie_ on board. That’s Bill's, uh, Admiral Adama's call sign?’

Kara laughed.

‘No sir, his is Husker, but they only called him that before he took command of his first ship. After that, it’s tradition, to refer to the Commander of a ship by her name. When I sent that message, it was me reminding them I had him on board.’

Laura must have looked even more confused, so Kara continued, as if to a small child.

‘The commander of the ship is the ship. The Old Man is _Valkyrie_. She is him. Officially, of course. Whether he’s arriving or departing, or if he’s off the ship. Then sometimes we think of him that way too. Unless he’s driving.’

‘Driving? Oh, you mean, piloting a plane. Then you don’t call him, unh _Valkryie_ , you call him?’

‘By his call sign. Husker.’

‘Right. Husker.’

_Interesting_.

‘Yeah. But only if he’s piloting. Trust me; we try not to let that happen too often.’

_Wait, what?_

‘I thought he's a pilot.’

‘Oh yeah, a great one. That’s why it’s good thing the deck crew would get fair warning if he’s on approach. If they know Husker’s on approach they start running.’

She was missing something. She was sure of it.

‘To get out of the way?’

Does he crash that often?

‘Nah,’ Kara snorted. ‘To get their butts in gear. To make sure everything was squared away. When he Old Man walks the flight deck he’s old school. Everything shipshape. The last time he arrived unannounced I thought the Chief was going to have a heart attack. The Admiral notices everything.’

She couldn’t keep from giggling, her eyes filed with mischief as she looked at Laura.

‘The last time it'd happened, there were a couple of rooks who’d gotten lazy and had to get themselves lost in a hurry.’

‘So I was right. He’s a good pilot.’

Laura didn’t know why she was surprised, he didn’t seem the type to bury himself in paperwork, but she’d gotten the impression Admirals weren’t allowed to a lot of their own flying.

‘The best. He’s a legend. You’re lucky; he hates piloting shuttles, otherwise you would have been treated to him flying a Raptor on combat approach when you landed. It can really turn your stomach though, so he probably wouldn’t have done that anyway.’

‘That’s not how you took us in.’

‘Nah, he knows I have enough practice. Besides, he told me he didn’t want me messing with you on our way in. He kept reminding me to take it easy on the way in, let the computer do the work. He was worried, I think, that I take us in the hard away without thinking. I do so many combat landings, it’s almost automatic.’

‘I got the impression that wasn’t the ship you usually flew.’

‘No, I’m a Viper Jock, not a Raptor Wrangler, sir. My friend Boomer, that’s her job.’

Kara slowed, meaning, Laura guessed, that they were close to wherever they were going. It was too bad; she’d quickly found herself at ease with the young ‘Starbuck.’ Plus, she was a fountain of information apparently. Her humor and that bright smile was infectious. Still, Laura wondered what was hidden behind the brash exterior.

‘Yet you volunteered.’

Kara nodded again.

‘Me and every pilot capable of piloting those flying bricks. Had to pull rank in the end.’

They turned the corner, entering a short corridor that ended in a gray hatch with the word ‘Commander’ written prominently below the handle but Kara pulled her up short just as they were about to reach it.

‘Don’t kid yourself, sir. Everyone on this ship couldn’t wait to scoop you out. I’ll be dining out on this for weeks.’

She turned to grin at Laura, who couldn’t help it. She laughed, the sound filling the small space as they reached their destination. Kara reached forward to open the hatch, ushering Laura in before her as she turned to supervise Laura's slow progress stepping over the raised entryway into the Admiral's Quarters. They were bigger than she’d imagined, though given that the ship she’d been escorted through had more resembled a small city than a ship of war, she shouldn’t have been surprised. She stepped carefully out of her shoes, appreciating the feel of soft carpet under her feet, a first since her arrival. Indeed, the whole area seemed a step removed from the remainder of the ship.

Although only the size of the campus apartment from her college days, the area was clearly a home, different from the strict functionality which marked the remainder of the _Valkyrie_. The wall, floors and ceiling were still that almost relaxing gray, and they still slanted in places, giving the room a distinctly military edge, but there were carpets scattered throughout, and the lights were on a low setting, filling the space with a soft glow. She could see the bed tucked away in the corner, but for the most part, the quarters were dominated by the large living and workspace. A massive wooden desk dominated the working area on one end, framed by the large portrait that hung behind it and which depicted a battle of some kind. The painting tugged at her memory, but she couldn't place it for the moment, so she let it slide out of her focus, looking instead at the living space, which featured a large, worn, sectional leather couch. The sectional, it’s brown leather contrasting with a couple of woollen throws which lay on its arms, had a small table placed in front of it and it was flanked by comfortable looking armchairs, together forming a small conversation area. Looking now at that comfy looking couch, Laura remembered how much she was looking forward to lying down.

Attempting to distract herself, she focused on gain, paying attention this time to the other main attraction of the quarters. The books. They were everywhere. Scattered here and there, lying open on the desk and the coffee table, stacks of them lying on the ends of the couch. Scattered in unsteady stacks on the floor, piled into the corners and bursting out of any number of overflowing bookshelves. She imagined they were placed in some sort of order, though to the untrained eye, it was hard to imagine how. 

Turning back to Kara, she found the younger woman watching her and she couldn’t help but wonder what Kara’s assessment of her, and of her reaction to Adama’s quarters, might be. She’d have to remember that everyone she met here would be doing the same, assessing her, her role, her relationship to Bill. It would be done with kindness, she knew, but she’d have to keep it in mind, no matter how much she longed for the quiet time with Bill in that impersonal hospital room, with no one to judge her but herself. At least with Kara, though, she must have passed muster, at least somewhat, for the younger woman grinned at her, turning to gesture at the whole area.

‘Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise – it’s always like this. Every time he comes home,’ she told, her, gesturing at all the books spilling out of every nook and cranny and piled into the corners, ‘another box of them comes with him.’

Satisfied for the most part with Laura’s failure to deterred by the over-flowing library the Old Man apparently lived in, she ushered Laura over to the sectional, urging her to sit down.

‘The Old Man said to get you comfortable. He should be here soon. Meanwhile, grab a seat.’

Though the room was warm, Laura shivered and as she sat, Kara grabbed the cream woollen throw that had been draped over the end of the couch and with surprising gentleness, covered her, acting once again as more of a nurse and less as the brash Viper pilot Laura knew her to be. Then, although she protested, Kara moved quickly to place a glass of water on the table in front her before slouching into one of the armchairs. Looking at her now, so obviously at ease, made Laura wonder once again, even in her exhaustion, at the relationship between Bill and the young pilot. They were obviously close, Kara was at ease here, in the Admiral’s quarters, as at ease as she would be in her own home, and the way she spoke of him hinted a familiar relationship, though she was sure Bill hadn’t mentioned any daughters. Sons, yes. Daughters…? Oh well, Laura thought as she leaned back into the couch. She’d figure it out later. Still. There was so much to learn, she thought as her eyes drifted close, comfortable and warm, snuggled in the throw that smelled faintly of Bill rather than of the astringent they used at the Caprica City hospital.

So much to learn. So much to experience, in this, her new life.

So little time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, I modelled the quarters here on Bill's on the Galactica, not Cain's on the Valkryie, not only in tone, decor and size, but really, can you blame me? Smaller and humbler they may be, but much more appointed in comfort. And sentiment, to be fair. You'll just have to forgive the sentimentality.


	12. Bringing in the Cat

She awoke to the low rumble of Bill’s voice.

‘What do you hear, Starbuck?’

The smile in his voice gave her a warm glow as she struggled to focus. _Daughter_ , she thought as the fuzzy effects of the nap cleared. _Biological or not._

Still awakening, she heard the woman giggle, a somewhat shocking sound from the Viper pilot dressed in the uniform of a Colonial Warrior. They made an interesting contrast, standing in the Admiral’s Quarters, Bill stockier, older, but with the years and the experience still sitting lightly on his shoulders, broad and straight, encased and the blue broadcloth which made up the standard uniform of the Colonial Navy. She’d noticed him even when she hadn’t wanted to, during those long months sitting in Adar’s office. The quiet, sturdy strength, the bright blue eyes. The posture. The shoulders. Looking at him now, she couldn't imagine how she wouldn't, and despite the fact that he clearly spent more time at a desk than he might have liked, she knew it would only take an excuse to have him strapping on a flight suit and climbing into whatever cockpit he could find.

Starbuck was as bright as he was dark, her golden hair shining though despite the haircut which demonstrated more negligence than care. She was edgier than her Commanding Officer, having clearly not fully absorbed his iron control, and her trim build seeming even slighter next to his bulk and clearly belied her talents and strength. As Laura had noted, and as she noted now, watching them, her personality was such that it would easily fill the massive bulk of the warship they were in. Young, sharp and talented would be how Laura would have described, though she would be interested to learn the complexities that clearly underlie that simply description.

She also noted how their companionship lifted each other; Starbuck’s vitality filling up Bill and smoothing the lines of his face; Bill’s iron control and quiet centred personality imbuing Starbuck with the capability of dealing with the conflict Laura occasionally saw flit across her face and darken her eyes.

Whomever they were to each other, they clearly brought out the best in each other. _Daughter_ , Laura thought again. It was clearly the only conclusion to be reached in the face of such evidence. _Daughter. In everything but blood._

Shaking off the ache in her bones, Laura struggled to raise herself to a seated position, She was eager to discover more of the dynamic between Bill and his adopted family, particularly this treasured connection that he’d felt comfortable sharing with her as he shared everything else. Wincing as she she shifted, smiling at Kara as she helped her sit, accepting with gratitude herself to snuggle back under the warm throws Kara had draped over her as she’d settled into the massive couch, noting again that for all her sharp edges, Kara took care to catch her, her innate kindness and her inner strength coming to fore.

‘Lieutenant Thrace has been most considerate, Admiral,’ she assured her new friend, enjoying the warmth which flowed between them.

‘Told you, sir,’ Kara winked at her C.O. seemingly unconcerned with matters of protocol. Despite having only known her a short time, Laura was completly confident in that assessment.

‘Dr. - Secretary Roslin’s a trooper.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Yup. Told her that she was welcome at our Pyramid game anytime.’

The corners of Bill’s eyes crinkled as he watched by-play between the two women. He smiled down at Laura, who was feeling more and more unwilling to leave this oasis she'd found.

‘High praise.’

Laura smiled up at him; grateful for all he was giving her, both in a home to rest in and people to share it with. It had been a while since she’d had so much fun. She only wished she had a way to reciprocate. 

‘I’d be honored, Starbuck, I'll try not to let down the side,’ she said demurely, trying not to look like the cat who’d got at the cream.

Clearly she hadn’t entirely fooled her audience, though.

‘Sensing a ringer, Lieutenant.’

‘Nah, Sweet baby face like that, sir? She may have played before but she’ll be lost in the nest of Vipers who show up to the weekly game.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bill told her, still smiling at Laura.

‘Not to worry, sir. We’ll take care of her for you.’

‘More like she’ll take care of your chips. By taking them home with her.’

Laura struggled to keep her laughter deep inside, determined not to break her cover. She'd honed her already considerable at the monthly cabinet games in Adar's administration when she’d been healthy and able to attend. They'd added greatly to her disposable income, particularly when Adar had deigned to join them. Focused as she was on not letting out her giggles, she couldn’t hold back the yawn which threatened to swamp her.

‘Alright, Starbuck. Get.’

‘Sir.’ She turned towards the door before seeming to remember something at the last moment.

‘Sir.’

Waiting for Bill’s attention, she stood slightly more formally while Laura watched in fascination.

‘Apollo tagged me yesterday. Regarding a, uh, visit?’

‘Apollo?’ Laura asked

‘My oldest. Lee.’

She could read the slight strain in Bill’s eyes, but she could also read the pride. Lee. Right. Also on duty as a pilot somewhere in the Fleet, he’d told her. He was coming here?

 _Ah. Okay_ …

‘Ah. Right. I remember. He's also a Viper pilot, right?’

‘Yeah.’

Bill’s face was calm and she struggled to read the thoughts hidden there, behind his stoic demeanor. She saw again the slight strain as he turned his attention to Starbuck once more.

 _What was she missing?_

‘He tagged you he was coming?’

‘Sir.’ Starbuck clearly was far from conflicted as her delight at Apollo's potential visit shone from her eyes, and she looked once more at ease. ‘Not to worry; I’ll make sure he’s squared away.’

The silence hung heavy for a moment before she continued.

‘He’s been hiding himself away far too long.’

‘Starbuck.’

‘Understood sir. On it.’

With that, she completed a perfect about turn and marched over to the hatch, though not before she’d given Laura a salute and what she was sure was the sauciest wink she’d ever seen. It appeared that she’d made a friend there, and a valuable one, especially in regards to the inside information she seemed willing to share. And Laura hadn’t survived in politics for as long as she had without learning the value of such sources.

Bill had watched Kara go, and stood for a moment lost in his own thoughts, allowing her a moment to study him in peace. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and he read her far too easily. Whatever he was thinking, though, he had it buried it securely away in his thoughts before he turned his attention back to her, turning to assess her condition once again.

‘Laura,’ he said again, apparently at ease, and if she hadn’t known better, she might have thought she’d imagined that brief look of concern as Starbuck had mentioned his eldest son.

Returning his smile, she decided that discretion was the better part of valour. She’d been able to read him better once she wasn’t feeling so wrung out. More specifically, she knew she’d be able to read him better once Lee was actually _here_. She'd worry about the implications of that later. Meanwhile, as she looked up at her imposing Admiral she tried, and failed, to once again hold in a jaw-cracking yawn.

‘Laura,’ he said, more firmly this time. ‘Bed.’

 _Well_. She smirked at him, wishing she were in a position to do more than flirt. Why couldn’t she have met him earlier? Even last year, when she’d first learnt of the cancer, even then she’d been in much better shape to follow her inclinations. _Oh well,_ she thought. Sometimes you have to play the cards you're dealt, and she didn't have time to waste in bitterness for what could have been. She'd learnt a lot this past year, particularly the need to enjoy what little comforts she could.

‘Got it,’ she said, deciding to let her inner dialogue rest.

Struggling to rise, she gratefully accepted his outstretched hand. _Here we go_ , she thought. The first day of the end of your life. Dr. Baltar may have been convinced of his own genius, but she was sure she was never leaving this Battlestar on her own two feet. Nor was she entirely sure she wanted to. Shivering as she lost the warmth as the throw slipped from her shoulders, she gratefully accepted his warmth as he gently wrapped his arm supportively around her waist. She could feel his warmth as it permeated his uniform and the cloth of her clothes to gently warm her as she unconsciously moulded her body to his. Felt it soak into her very bones.

As the events of the day caught up to her, the exhaustion hit her, and she wondered how long she could stay on her feet. Hoped her resting place, at least for tonight, wasn’t that much further. Having taken a moment to steady herself, she glanced up to see him assessing her, a clear line of concern forming between his brow. Hoping to see him smile, she took a deep breath and again focused on the positive, openly seeking to use his energy to bolster her steps for the short distance to wherever he was planning to stow her.

‘Let’s go. I’d hate to get caught drooling on your couch again.’

She got her wish; that brilliant grin flashed, though she could still see the worry bleeding through. Smiling gently at her, he tried to hide his concern from her as he moved closer and they took a careful step forward. They hadn’t made it very far, though, only a couple of steps, before she realized they weren’t, in fact, leaving his quarters. They were as much a self-contained living area as anything, and while the office and living space took much of the front area, there was a small sleeping area tucked into the back, with what she guessed was an equally small bathroom off to the side. Tucked away was a small bed, which, while much narrower than she would have imagined, still seemed remarkably like a heaven for her to snuggle into.

Noting the position of her bag, already sitting on the floor next to it, and fighting down a surge of emotion, she reluctantly dragged him to a stop. She could feel the tears already stinging the back of her eyes.

_Hold it together, Roslin._

‘I can’t take your bed.’

‘Rack.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s a rack, Roslin. Not a bed. The bathroom, or _Head_ , is there, which should be convenient for you as well.’

She gritted her teeth. She was dying here, literally and figuratively, and he was giving her a vocabulary lesson.

_Men._

‘I don’t care what you call it – ’

‘Rack, Roslin.’

Though, ‘rack’? Really? Sounded like a torture device. Though it kinda looked like one.

‘ – it’s still your bed. I’m not kicking you out of it.’

She could feel him gently nudging her forward, and though she was determined not to give in, she decided to save her energy for the fight to come. She watched him carefully, measuring her opponent, as he moved to sit next to her, shifting so that he faced her directly.

‘You uncomfortable in my rack?’

Recognizing the challenge, she drew herself up as much as she could. It was clear he wanted to get her objections out in the open, being deliberately provocative, trying to draw her out.

‘Stop trying to bait me.’

He openly smirked at her.

‘You’re always welcome in one of my beds.’

Vainly trying to stifle her laughter, it turned into a snort instead. Then a series of snorts, until she gave in and let her laughter out, letting it fill the small space, letting herself laugh so hard that she had to hug herself, leaning forward, laughing so hard her ribs ached and she had to wipe away the tears. Finally able to regain control of herself, she looked over where he sat grinning at her, enjoying her reaction. She’d been laughing so hard she’d been shaking the bed, until he’d joined her laughter with his own, his deep chuckle echoing in counterpoint to her higher tones.

‘That was the most ridiculous line I’ve ever heard.’

He grinned back at her.

‘Couldn’t resist.’

She grinned back at him, knowing he’d won this round as she felt the warmth and comfort of his quarters wrap around her once again. She struggled to focus once again, reminding herself reluctantly that she couldn’t reach for this, for him, that she had to be constant in her purpose.

‘I appreciate the gesture - ’

‘Laura. Stop. I’ve put you here for a reason. Dr. Fledgle and I had a number of conversations before we left, remember? She doesn’t want you alone. At least not for extended periods of time. My quarters are big enough for you to rest comfortably while I can still work without disturbing. Cottle’s sending Medic Ishtay - you met her earlier, right? - for when I’m in the C.I.C., and I'll be sleeping just down the hall.’

He took her hand in hers and she struggled to keep them from shaking and held back the tears that threatened to spill over.

‘Give me this, Laura. Let me have this one. You can fight with me tomorrow. For tonight, just. Let go.’

Unable to look away, she nodded, letting his overwhelming personality overwhelm her. Giving her one last look, he squeezed her hands gently before standing and walking out of the small space, leaving her sitting on the bed, feeling only slightly shell-shocked. Struggling to adjust, she remembered to get herself changed and into the bed before she fell off it, the soft light emanating from the living space a reassuring reminder of his presence. _Tomorrow_ , she resolved reluctantly. _Tomorrow we’ll have that conversation. The one I’ve been putting off. Tomorrow I’ll face the music. Let me just enjoy this comfort tonight._

Breathing in the slight smell of man and machine which emanated from his pillow (the smell had a slight citrus-y note, she thought idly), she cuddled in, pulling the grey woollen blankets up to her chin, turning into her side to curl up before she promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone else might be coming for a visit soon, eh?
> 
> Happy Canada Day, everyone!


	13. Confidences

_Exactly what kind of secrets are you keeping, Laura?_

Bill wondered as he struggled to focus on the paperwork that had piled up during his extensive stay in Caprica City. He'd handled most of it during his down time while Laura had slept, and Saul had taken care of the majority of what had remained. He still needed to be aware of everything which had gone on while he was away from the _Valkryie_ , though, which meant that signing off on everything could take hours. That, and today's unanticipated emergency during C.A.P. training which had kept him in the C.I.C. most of the night meant that he’d had to rush settling in Laura in. He smirked, looking over to the curve of wall that led into the alcove where she slept in his rack. He knew he’d gotten away with it simply as she was exhausted and in no condition to challenge him, and he also knew he’d be paying for it tomorrow. She wouldn’t let him roughshod over her for long.

Clearly she was keeping things from him. As a general rule, he had no objection. Everyone had their secrets. In any case, anything he needed to know she could be trusted to tell him when she was ready. After that disastrous visit with Adar, though, he was pretty sure there were things that he would need to know, most likely sooner rather than later.

_What kind of leverage was Adar holding over her?_

He wondered. And why was she still playing his games? Dr. Fledgle hadn’t sugar-coated Laura’s prognosis. She was dying. He winced, unwilling to admit it to himself even in the privacy of his own thoughts the realities of the grim timeline Fledgle had laid out for him, and he struggled to focus again on the question of Laura's connection to Adar and the implications. Given Laura's condition, there shouldn’t be anything left for Adar to hold over on her. Yet he was pretty sure there had been some serious horse-trading going on while he’d been stuck, cooling his heels, in that hallway. He tried not to think how pale she’d been when he’d gotten back to her, let alone how she'd looked moments before she’d passed out from exhaustion.

 _Tomorrow, Laura,_ he resolved. _Tomorrow we’ll see._

***

It was a little eerie when she awoke, though it was far from quiet. She could hear the soft hum of _Valkyrie_ ’s air exchange system, as well as the equally soft hum of her engines rumbling the rack oh so slightly. The soft light from the other room was still on, though she wasn’t surprised Bill had told her there would be someone there twenty-four by seven. Made her feel a little, unsure, actually, but it was a small price to pay, she supposed. In any event, had she still been stuck in that hospital on Caprica, they’d be someone with her permanently by now. Probably more than one, to tell the truth. (A couple of the residents found her case fascinating. And not only because of the Baltar connection.)

Shifting, she struggled to at least move herself into a sitting position. It was slightly cool in the room, more so that the previous day, so she kept the rough woollen blanket around her shoulders as much as possible. She was exhausted still, though given the events of the previous day, she was somewhat impressed she was conscious enough to move about at all. Still, one thought kept rattling around in the back of her brain, keeping her from snuggling back into the cozy rack to close her eyes and sink back into oblivion.

Food.

 _Gods_. When was the last time she’d actually been hungry? She couldn’t remember. It had been so long since food had been a pleasure. It had simply been easier to subsist on whatever fluids the doctors had been pumping into her. At least they actually stayed down. Now, for the first time in forever, all she could think of was the possibility of real food. Tea, too, if that’s all she could get, though again, she could kill for another coffee. Toast. She wondered what a woman might have to do around here to procure those.

Though it still felt as though her limbs were weighed down with lead, she struggled to herself up and into an ambulatory position. Her body, exhausted by the unexpected exertions of the previous day, screamed at her to lay back down, _sleep_ , but though the temptation was almost overwhelming, the tantalizing possibility of food (an almost unremembered sensation), could not be denied. Throwing her clothes back on as quickly as possible, she forced herself to make a quick detour to the bathroom, (head!) to perform a few quick, and necessary, absolutions before venturing out again into the living area. Surely she could find a way to get nourishment out there.

Blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the soft light, she ventured out, surprised to see Bill awake. He sat on his couch, again surrounded by paper. _Gods, did the man ever run out of paperwork?_ The only sign of him having slept a small tidy pile of the blankets and pillows stacked on the chair of the couch besides him. The soft light was gentle, but he still looked better, and more rested, than any overworked Admiral in his late fifties ought to. While the thought of food still called to her, it was temporarily pushed into the background by the thought of sinking into the worn leather and the warm comfort of the arms of the man who’d made her his own. Snuggling up under a shared blanket, rest her head on his chest and let his body warmth lull her back to sleep.

Sensing her arrival, he looked up and smiled, rising before moving slowly to escort her gently to the couch and settling her into his recently vacated seat.

‘Hope you’re hungry,’ he told her softly as she (painfully, and far from gracefully) found her seat. ‘I told the Galley to send up the food, and to be generous in their portions.’

‘Starving,’ she told him ruefully as she looked up at him again as he quietly tucked the throw around her. It was a toss-up, which was more demanding; the hunger clawing at the inside of her stomach or the exhaustion, which had returned and was once again dragging at her limbs and fogging her brain.

‘Good.’

He busied himself, prepping the table for what she devotedly hoped was a substantial breakfast, though at the moment she was mostly intrigued by the mesmerizing smell emanating from the small pot sitting on the table. As if reading her mind, he reached to pour the contents into the sturdy mugs which sat beside it. She wasn’t sure she could believe her luck when he doctored it with just a hint of cream, just as she liked, before bringing it over, the smell seemingly growing only more heavenly as he approached. She took it gratefully as he handed it to her, careful not to question his obvious intention to ignore her doctor’s orders.

Viper jocks. It appeared they were always determined to break the rules.

Savouring her first sip, she almost cried with relief. _Coffee. Oh, sweet coffee. Where have you been?_ Savouring the next sip, and the next, and the next, she couldn’t fail to notice his evident enjoyment as he watched her enjoy the forbidden beverage. They enjoyed their respective constitutionals for a long moment, each sitting in comfortable silence, though her enjoyment ended much too soon as she drained the last drop out of her sturdy white ceramic mug.

She knew he wasn’t likely to allow her to overdose on the glorious nectar, and she’d enjoyed his gesture much, much, much, too much to push it. She was shocked, therefore, when, after watching her enjoy her final sip, he plucked the mug out of her hand before heading over to the table, apparently to fulfill her secret fantasy of a second cup. Just as she was about to question his flagrant flouting of the rules, unwilling, as she was, to have her dead body on his conscience, he glanced over his shoulder to smirk at her.

‘It’s decaf.’

‘Bullshit.’ She told him, having tried every variation she could find of the pseudo-coffee. ‘Decaf tastes like coloured water, not the nectar of the gods. And I should know. Believe me, I should know.’

‘Yet, decaf it is.’

He finished doctoring the second cup before returning it to her, and she sniffed suspiciously at the aroma. It smelled just as amazing as before, and when she took her first, cautious sip, she could not one iota of the chemical fakeness she associated with the concoction often passed off as coffee. He was still smiling at her as he watched her examination of the beverage, and though she wasn’t sure, she could swear he was laughing at her.

‘I know. It’s incredible, isn’t it? But it is. Don’t know how he does it, but the Chief of the Galley makes it taste it just like the real deal.’

Too grateful to question on her own luck, Laura once again concentrated on her coffee, savouring it more slowly this time, still unsure she wasn’t being had. She heard the light tap of a knock on the hatch moments later, just as she was contemplating whether to push it with a third cup. If it really was decaf… and if she ate as much as her system seemed to want to… the food would probably soak up whatever little caffeine it actually contained...

She watched intently as a young sailor delivered a couple of covered plates, the smell of their contents, if possible, even more heavenly than that of the devil’s brew she was currently inhaling. Seemingly unaware of her almost pathological interest in the covered plates, the young serviceman dropped them off before discreetly disappearing, the door clanging behind him on exit, the lingering echo of Adama’s quiet ‘Thank you Private Jaffee,’ the only evidence he'd ever been there.

She was reluctant to leave the cozy nest Bill had formed for her on the couch, but the smells emanating from the covered plates on the table were too tempting to ignore. _Really, when was the last time she’d been this hungry?_ She’d never been a foodie, but her appetite had understandably been at less than zero this last year. Now, though, despite the fact that she had to struggle to her feet, getting tangled in the throw as she did, she yearned for the small bounty sitting on the table. Bill had moved to help her, almost subconsciously she thought, and he was deceptively fast for a man who took up so much space, but she managed to reach her feet on her own, warning him with her eyes against lending her a helping hand yet again. Maintaining her equilibrium on her own, two, (soon three) cups of coffee, and a hearty breakfast. It was going to be a banner day.

Settled into her seat at the table, she attacked her breakfast with gusto, almost before he’d finished serving her, his deft hands making short work of the job. He (or Cottle), must have even particular instructions to the kitchen; she doubted the Admiral usually started his day with fruit, toast and steel-cut oatmeal. It was delicious, though, and she finished her plate without thinking, even while was still digging in.

Ever the genial host, he was halfway to his feet to refill her plate before she waved him off.

‘I’d better not push it,’ she said in response to his questioning gaze, that famous eyebrow half-raised in inquiry.

She sat back in her chair instead, cradling her newly refilled cup with both hands, making herself comfortable as she enjoyed being with him as he ate.

‘Tell the truth,’ she teased as he reached for seconds later, waving him off again as he reached for her plate. ‘What’s usually for breakfast?’

He laughed gently over at her.

‘You don’t see this as my usual breakfast?’

‘Nope.’

‘Alright. Usually, there is more protein and slightly… less fruit,’ he admitted, smiling wryly at her, ‘though I might get to like this,’ he gestured vaguely at the oatmeal, ‘whatever this, is.’

'Oatmeal?'

'Oatmeal. It's good.'

She rolled her eyes at him. 

‘Cottle got to you?’

‘Cottle got to my Galley Chief, I imagine.’

‘Ahh.’

‘Yeah. I imagine Cottle’s enjoying my eggs right now.’

It was her turn to laugh.

‘Eggs. How daring.’

‘Mm. And bacon. But only twice a week. Cottle’s orders.’

‘Bacon. How’d you swing that?’

He grinned at her, seemingly unrepentant.

‘Rank has its privileges.’

‘So…? Oh. Right.’

‘Right. Cottle tries, but I outrank him.’

‘Shouldn’t have thought he’d care.’

‘He doesn’t. But the Galley Chief has to.’

She laughed, imagining that conversation.

‘Cottle usually gets always with ordering everyone around. He can’t order me around, though I always _listen_ to his recommendations.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘I _do_. Hence bacon and eggs, but only twice a week.’

‘So it weren’t for Cottle’s advice?’

‘Protein is good for you, Laura.’

Once again she snorted. Once again it turned into a laugh she was helpless to control.

‘Right. And how long did you get away with that one?’

‘Viper pilots have to maintain their strength, Laura. They expend a lot of energy in the cockpit. Healthy, lean protein is key.’

She laughed again.

‘And Admirals?’

‘Still true. Though to a lesser degree.’

‘Hence bacon only twice a week.’

‘Twice a week.’

They smirked together, enjoying the moment.

‘You miss it?’ she asked.

He masked it well, but she saw the flicker, just for a second, as his eyes took on a faraway look. A moment later, his lids closed again and it was gone, that hint of restlessness. That hint of regret.

‘You’ve no idea. Being that close to the stars, that sense of control, of belonging, of peace. It’s indescribable.’ He sighed, only slightly before returning her smile. ‘Hated to give it up, that’s the price you pay, I guess.’

‘For Command.’

‘Yes. But also…peacetime Fleets contract. As they should. Getting back in was hard enough. I couldn’t put any strings on it.’

‘You weren’t always military?’

‘Joined at 19. Only ever wanted to fly. Even after the war, after everything, never stopped. Only ever wanted to fly. After the war ended – ’ again his eyes got that faraway look, though there was more grief there, tempered only by time, she thought ‘- and then I made it through the first few rounds before I found myself on the outside, looking in.’

‘Sorry, rounds?’

‘Rounds of decommissioning Eventually even the professionals – ’ again he smiled at her, ‘- or those who saw themselves as that, found themselves looking for new berths.’

‘Including you.’

‘Yup. Got back in, got Saul back in. Took a while, though.’ This time, there was no question; the smile was sad, the bitterness evident only at its farthest edges. ‘Worth it. Whatever the cost.’

She tilted her head, fascinated by the turn in the conversation.

‘The cost?’

He looked directly at her, and she could feel the laser beam of his focus as the world, or the approximation of it on which she stood, stilled. For that moment there was only him, only her, the bustle of a busy Battlestar outside ceasing for a moment, even as the cool grey walls re-impressed upon her where she was, what he was. This was no pleasure cruiser built for comfort, but a sturdy, functional, weapon of war. In a lot of ways, as she’d seen since she’d arrived, it was also an extension of him, of his will, a tangible representation of the power he exuded from his bones and the force he controlled.

‘In some ways my ex never got it. She convinced her father to pull some strings, helped me get back in. But she never saw it. Just saw the dashing young Viper pilot. This life, Laura, when you choose it. You’re either in or you’re out. There is no other choice.’

He challenged her openly with his eyes, keeping them focused on her, full bore as she met them, responding to the challenge with one of her own.

‘Thought I’d made it clear, Admiral,’ she reminded him as she paused to take a sip of her coffee, continuing to meet his eyes over the lip of the cup, the beverage inside it having long since cooled. ‘When I got on that shuttle with you.’

The subtext hung in the air between them.

_I’m in. For as long as I’m able. All the way to the end. I’m in._

Seemingly satisfied, he smiled slightly and sat back in his chair, turning his attention back to his own cup. He looked up at her again a moment later, his glorious cobalt gaze hitting her like a ton of bricks. His smile as glorious as his eyes.

‘Should warn you. It’s a package deal.’

She made a slight hand gesture, meaning vaguely to include the massive military vessel she was currently encompassed in, as well as the warm, masculine quarters she had every intention of cocooning herself in.

‘Got that.’

‘Meant the people.’ He chuckled wryly. ‘On board, of course – ’

She thought ruefully of Saul Tigh and Sherman Cottle. Of course, Starbuck about evened that out.

‘ – and those who stop by whether they want to or not.’

There was that smile again, she thought, the one with equal tinges of pride and angst. She wondered what caused that smile. The son Kara mentioned?

‘I’m learning all sorts of new things.’

She idly eyed the coffee pot on the table, wondering how much was left in it. _I wonder how much caffeine really is in decaf. None? A tiny fraction?_ _Because then it would be like drinking water, right? Which is good for me_ , she reassured herself.

‘Apollo.’

She made it a question only by the tiniest quirk in her eyes, willing for him to take it as far as he did, or didn’t, want to. There was pain in his eyes as he answered, though she doubted any but the most observant would see it.

‘Lee.’

‘Lee. This visit, I take it that it wasn’t his idea?’

‘Not entirely mine, either, though I’m… grateful. For whatever throws him my way. He’s scheduled for enhanced C.A.G. training, and he’s been scheduled to do it here. Someone in the Admiralty clearly thought they were doing me a favour. Either that or they have a wicked sense of humour.’

She spelled it out, distracted by her curiosity. ‘C.A.G. training?

‘Commander-Air-Group. They haven’t promoted him yet, but the fact that their sending him for this training… it’s a sign they have an eye on him. Kid’s a natural.’

She smiled at him, enjoying the clear pride in his voice, despite the clear Adama father-son angst she could sense.

‘Like his father.’

He smiled.

‘Can barely remember that far back.’

They shared a smile then, though Laura had never been the type to long for her lost youth. Other than the freedom of flying every day, she doubted Bill did either.

‘So someone had the bright idea to assign him here for flight training?’

‘Yup.’

‘I take it,’ she hesitated slightly, focusing on her words, ‘he isn’t thrilled about this idea.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Because he’s trying to avoid you or because he’s trying to avoid me?’

‘Oh, Laura.’ The smirk peeked out at her, just a hint of it. ‘He’s definitely avoiding me.’

'Good.' 

‘Though, knowing Starbuck, he’ll be fully briefed on you long before he actually meets you.’

She imagined, especially since she’d shown up so unexpectedly and on such short notice…

‘And that’s bad?’

‘No. Though not really sure what to expect.’ He hit her with those eyes again. ‘Don’t really have much experience with that situation.’

_Really? And why was that? But that was a question for another day._

I wondered - ' _how to go about this delicately?_ 'I know you told me you're divorced, back on Caprica. You never told me - ' she glanced down at his hands on his own cup, '- why you still wear the ring regardless. I worried it might have to do with... continuing complications... with your ex.'

'More my children.'

'Really?'

'Lee did not take it well, though it's been over a decade, now. I guess, I wear it out of habit. And a reminder of how badly I can screw up.'

'You don't have people to do that for you?'

'Yeah. Lee.'

She laughed so hard it hurt her ribs. 

‘What’s he like? Lee?’

‘He’s more diplomatic than I am. Less guarded, I guess. Easier to get along with.’

‘I haven’t noticed a problem,’ she told him truthfully, hoping to make him smile once more.

It worked, at least for a moment.

‘Thanks. Though you are - an exception. In any case, he and Starbuck are most likely joined at the hip, so you’ll probably be privy to a side of him you won’t get when you’re with me.’

‘They’re close, eh?’

It reassured her, somehow. She’d sensed Bill and Starbuck were close, his relationship with her seemed so paternal, it seemed only right. She hadn't expected it though, Bill’s reaction to her question. This time there was no mistaking it; the grimness that flooded his eyes, the sadness that announced itself in the set of his mouth. The stoic mask reasserted itself, but not before she saw, clearly and openly, the extent of his grief.

‘She was engaged to Zak. My other son. They were close, the three of them. ’

‘Oh, Bill.’

Wordlessly, she rose, wrapping her arms around him, even as he sat, letting him rest his head against her chest, wrapping herself around him. Seeking to provide whatever comfort she could in the face of his pain. She had no idea what had happened but whatever it was, it was clear Zak was no longer with them. Bill’s pain was clear, intense, as he stared off into space a moment before a deep shudder racked through his sturdy frame. Determinedly she held on, waiting for his pain to ebb, though she knew it would never fully ease. Not fully. Not knowing what to say, she simply hung on, wishing she could say something, do something, to ease the agony he refused to share fully. She hesitated before deciding how to continue.

‘It never goes away,’ she said softly, hoping her words didn’t make his pain worse. ‘I wish I could tell you it did. You just get used to the pain.’

Lost in her own grief, she nevertheless held on to her grief-stricken Admiral with everything she had.

‘You just get used to the weight. After a while you forget you’re still carrying it.'

 _For the most part. Until you remember_ , she thought sadly. It popped up, every once in a while, when she least expected it. Freezing her, wracking her, with pain and guilt.

‘It passes,’ she said, unsure of whether she was talking to Bill or to herself. ‘It just feels like it won’t. Until it does. And then it fades once again.’ She paused, but she couldn't help but continue. ‘Until the next time.’

The shudders wracking his body had stopped and though she wasn’t quite aware of what she was doing, she managed to find her seat again, the neighbouring his, and she sat down rather heavily, though she kept hold of his hand. For his comfort. For hers. They stared at each other a moment, each sharing in the pain.

‘How long?’ He rasped.

She couldn’t remember, not really. She struggled a moment to concentrate, to remember.

‘Too long,’ she told him.

Too long. There was a reason she lived alone. A reason she’d wasted it on distractions like Adar, though she hadn’t realized it until quite that moment.

He’d recovered, somewhat, and he’d focused on her again, the slight, wry smile the only remaining indication of his moment of perceived vulnerability. They sat in silence a moment longer.

‘Thank you’ he finally got out.

She tilted her head slightly. She couldn’t imagine.

‘For what?’

That smile again. ‘For you.’

She smiled back. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘Anyway,’ he cleared his throat, seemingly determined to move on from the painful moment she'd inadvertently provoked, ‘if you’re finished drinking all of my coffee, I promised Cottle I’d take you to see him first thing.’

‘Ah, so that’s why you’re buttering me up with coffee. Although,’ she made a show of looking at her watch even though she figured Battlestars didn’t keep regular days, ‘I think we’ll really late.’

‘The privileges of rank,’ he told her.

'I'll wonder if he'll see it that way.'

'Doubt it. But you can withstand his wrath. You're sturdy. '

And as he laughed at her from his glorious eyes, still wet from his unashamed tears, she wondered if he was more right than he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers?  
> I not know her.
> 
> Also, forgive the plot point I had to shoehorn in here. Oopsie.


	14. Combat Landings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got my ticket for the long way 'round  
> The one with the prettiest of views  
> It's got mountains, it's got rivers, it's got sights to give you shivers  
> But it sure would be prettier with you.  
> \- Anna Kendrick (Cups)

He left her in Sickbay at the tender mercies of his Chief Medical Officer, who luckily somehow only managed to poke her unnecessarily two or three times before declaring her fit to live another day as he ordered her out of his sickbay. She’d tried to tell him that she was feeling better than she had in months, that she'd been _hungry_ for the first time in years, but he seemed more interested in making snide comments under his breath regarding her life choices and general attitude. She couldn't help but reflect her experience that morning was nonetheless an improvement over her experiences in the Caprica City hospitals, even taking into account Cottle's distinctly prickly bedside manner. 

She knew Bill was likely to be busy for at least the next few hours, so she asked the young marine who'd been left to babysit her if they could take her to observation area Starbuck had mentioned. She’d said it was a sight not to be missed, and Laura wouldn't mind a few hours sitting among the stars. She had even thought to bring her notebook when she'd left Bill's Quarters, which meant she’d be able to entertain herself with some sketching for the first time in forever in the unlikely appeal gazing at the stars from orbit lost their appeal.

Honestly, though, she didn’t really foresee that being a possibility.

She was right; they did not. The views were stupendous and she couldn't foresee a time when she wouldn't want to sit and bask in the light of the stars. As an added bonus, there seemed to be an inordinate number of planes flying by the observation windows, something her guide, Corporal Venner, explained was due to the C.A.P. training (not to be confused with C.A.G.), Starbuck was running.

‘C.A.P., sir.' Venner explained again even as she marvelled at his willingness to explain it to her for the fourteenth time, 'Combat Air Patrol.’

She decided to let his enjoyment of her ignorance pass. She sounded it out.

‘C.A.P.’

‘Yes, sir. Starbuck’s really putting them through their paces. They’re experienced pilots, but she’s making sure they can handle patrolling with others and around other ships, like the old _Galactica_ over there.’

'The big one off to the side?'

'Yeah, we call her The Bucket. She's a veteran of the Cylon Wars, and she really should have been put out to pasture by now, but apparently they're talking of making her a museum and the Admiralty hasn't finished haggling with the civies yet on how that's going to work.'

She smiled slightly, hiding it carefully and discreetly behind a knuckle, not wanting to offend him. Apparently she no longer fell into the civilian category, even as they were all careful to call her 'Madame Secretary' and treat her with kid gloves.

Venner paused in his explanation of the dynamics of the training exercise to offer her a piece of licorice but she shook her head, offering him a smile as a thank you. She’d never been fond of that candy, and her stomach was in no condition to be pushed even if she'd rediscovered her appetite. She was looking forward to lunch, though, and hoped that her luck would hold. 

‘She’s really good, isn’t she?’ She asked Venner, referring to Kara.

‘Sir. One of the best. The Old Man always says she’s better even than he was.’

‘The Old Man - Admiral Adama?’

She still couldn’t get used to the crew’s nickname for him, though she knew it came from love and respect. It's just that, 'Old' was the last thing that came to mind when she looked at him. 

‘Sir.’ Venner confirmed. ‘And that's high praise coming from him, given… well, I don’t have to tell you, he was a considered a prodigy, back in the day.’

 _Actually_ , she thought, _you did have to tell me_. She kept it to herself, though, as she wasn’t sure, exactly, what the crew knew or thought of her presence on this warship, curled up like a plump tabby cat in the Admiral's Quarters, and she wasn’t going to set off the new round of gossip that she knew would ensue should she ask.

Venner, thankfully was oblivious, and prattled on.

‘The Old Man likes to keep us honed for anything, so Starbuck’s really putting them their paces with the C.A.P. training.’

He paused to look at her, a question in his eyes.

‘Combat Air Patrol,’ she supplied diligently.

‘Exactly. She’s making sure they can run it in their sleep. Same thing with the combat landings, of course. Nothing automated on the Valkyrie.’

‘Automated?’

‘Most battlestars, when the Vipers,’ he nodded at the ships performing maneuvers outside the window, ‘and the Raptors come in for landing, the ships systems take over, handling the landings with the main computers. The computers are all networked, and they all perform a large number of automated functions. It’s easier for the pilots and the ground crews, less likely that there were accidents during training. But automated landings are so much slower than manual ones, and it takes humans completely out of the mix. Makes the pilots lazy, rusty.’

‘The _Valkyrie_ doesn't do that?’

‘Nah. The Old Man doesn’t like it. Besides the fact that he thinks pilots should always be used to thinking on their feet, he doesn't trust the automated feature. Thinks it leaves the _Valkryie's_ main systems open to infections from computer viruses since they’re all hooked into the network. So we do things the hard way,’ the corporal told her with pride.

She smiled. _Of course._

‘The pilot’s aren’t resentful? Of all the extra work?’

He smirked, the twist of his lop letting her know what he thought of those who wouldn’t appreciate the extra training _Valkyrie_ ’s commander was insistent on putting them through.

‘Only ones who wouldn’t make it through Starbuck’s training anyway.’

‘Need all the help they can get, get through that,’ a new voice, to the right and behind him, interjected quietly.

Even as she twisted her body slightly to assess the new arrival, she sensed Corporal Venner at her side snapping to attention.

‘Captain Adama, sir.’

The resemblance was there, in the eyes especially, though she had to look for it. Maybe if she hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time studying the family photos in Bill’s quarters, she might not have seen it, the resemblance, but she had, and so she did. The build was the same too, even with the thirty year age difference, as was the height, and there was something in the way he held himself that brought his father to mind. Though to be honest she was somewhat surprised she could see it at the moment, as he was holding his body so rigidly.

It was clear as to why they given him the call sign of Apollo, the ancient God of Sun, Art and Truth. It suited him. He would have stood it in almost any crowd, and to tell the truth, he was almost too good looking, impossibly handsome and chiselled. It was a privilege not granted to most men; how exceedingly, classically, handsome he was, one certainly not granted his father, though she had little to complain about there. It was a significant difference, though. Whereas Bill defied the traditional definitions of what made a man attractive, with his crooked smile and distinctive nose, he drew you in with his piercing blue eyes and thick dark head of hair, and most importantly with his sense of confidence and strength. You would never call him _handsome_ , though you'd have to be blind not to see his appeal. That distinction would never apply to Lee. He was the definition of what she imagined flyboys were meant to look like, standing there in the deep blue uniform of the Colonial Armed Forces. The oldest Adama boy was strikingly attractive, with phenomenal bone structure, sharp-edged cheekbones that frankly would probably cut glass, and an trim body that might have been used as the model for sculptors everywhere. The thick head of blond hair (longer than regulation she was sure), in addition to the shocking blue eyes he’d inherited from Bill didn’t hurt. Instead of her Admiral’s piercing gaze, though, Lee's eyes were the calm, serene blue of Caprica’s seas.

The pictures she had seen in Bill's Quarters did not do him justice, he was stunning, and she wondered idly, in that moment as Venner saluted and she seemed to be passed from one soldier to another, if Zak Adama had been as been as striking in real life. She'd had a quick look at the photos Bill had displayed of his younger son in his Quarters, and it seemed he had been equally as handsome as his brother, even if he had been as dark as Lee was fair. (She spared a moment to wonder jealously despite herself exactly _how_ beautiful their mother had to be.) They would have made quite the pair, she was sure, the two younger Adama boys, as they were both equally handsome in uniform but Lee's fair looks would have acted as a foil for Bill and Zak's darker complexions. 

She also pondered how she seemed to be a inanimate object to be passed along as if she was an onerous chore as Venner saluted respectfully and left. Smiling wryly at herself, though, she decided to devote her energy to dealing with the delicate family dynamics she would have to maneuver in the coming hours instead of wasting her energy on useless irritation.

‘Secretary Roslin?’ Lee asked finally, turning to her, his voice as modulated and attractive as the rest of him.

The question was posed quietly, and respectfully, but she could see the assessment in his eyes, and she knew the questioned referred to more than simply her identity. He clearly knew who she was, he'd have to be stupid not to, and he was being open in his assessment of her, this new arrival in his father's life. Clearly she was getting no freebies here. She'd been right; when she'd pointed out to Bill that his son would likely see her as a factor of which to be wary, even if the elder Adamas had been divorced for decades. 

She nodded at their son now, content to continue her own assessments.

Fathers and sons. There were always complications, there.

‘You must be Lee.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short in length though hopefully not in impact :)


	15. Thank you, Captain Apollo

‘Dr. Roslin.’

Taking her hand carefully in his larger one for a brief second, he held her eyes a moment, his assessment of her continuing, and if anything, becoming even more overt. After a minute, she returned her gaze to the Observation windows, though she still felt his gaze upon her. Uncertain of how to proceed, she was also unwilling to give in to his demand she give in and lose this awkward game of eye-chicken. She’d let him break the silence.

Surprisingly he did so, almost immediately in fact.

‘It’s the one thing I always got,’ he said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘The view,’ he said, gesturing vaguely at the stars visible through the windows and she had to control her shock at recognizing Bill’s mannerisms in his son. She didn’t know why it should continue to surprise her how much the two men reminded her of each other, they were father and son after all, but she still found it disconcerting. Maybe it was because she’d always found Bill so unique. It was somewhat shocking to find out that there were in fact two Adamas. 

‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘Hmm. I never got it the way he does, but it something. Sometimes I even get why…’ he broke off suddenly, leaving her to wonder. It was clear after a second or two, though, that he didn’t intend to continue, so she let it go, and returned her attention to the view, waiting calmly.

‘Can I help you back?’ He asked her. ‘We’ll be late for dinner if we don’t head out.’

She looked up at him, easily reading the strain latent in his features but choosing to let it go. Smiling, she dared to tease him a little.

‘He is particular, your father.’

The smile flashed, just for a second, a tiny second, reflected in his eyes, and then it was gone. Well, she’d accomplished something today at least, she thought, making Bill's son smile. She saw it for a moment, understood it, the brightness inside him, the way he could light up a room, the magnetism that he exuded so effortlessly. His charisma was different than his father’s, more overt and equally potent.

Having glimpsed the warmth which lay behind his sharp edges, she smiled back, more openly now, more willing to take a chance on this striking stranger who presented as the ultimate cocky viper jock but who reminded her so much of his quiet, collected father. She struggled to rise, gratefully accepting his hand and his help as she slowly got to her feet. She struggled to stay focused as they continued through the ship on the way back to the Admiral's Quarters. Whatever magic Cottle had conjured since her arrival on the _Valkryie_ seemed to be wearing off. Either that or it had been a combination of her overly active imagination and the adrenaline from the move. She was suddenly so tired. Leaning more heavily on Lee's arm than she would have liked, they moved slowly through the ship.

She could sense his growing concern and indeed, by the time they reached their destination she was finding it difficult to keep on her feet. She read the concern on the faces of the marines posted outside the Admiral’s Quarters as well as they passed them on the way in. She noted the unspoken command Lee seemed to give them, and she hoped that meant help would be coming sooner rather than later. Despite the reassurance that brought here, she still groaned a litte.

_Great. Another visit with Cottle._

Struggling to cross the slightly raised threshold leading into Adama’s domain, she struggled to give both them and Lee a reassuring smile.

‘Madame Secretary,’ the taller one responded gently, but it was clear they were not convinced.

All she cared at that point, though, was that she and Lee had managed to make it all the way there. She’d never been so happy to see a worn leather couch in her life. Lee’s support had grown more and more overt as they’d moved through the ship as her steps had faltered, and by the time they'd made it to this point his arm had had to slip fully around her waist to take the majority of her weight. Now, as he all but lowered her to her seat, the extent of her physical weakness was apparent.

‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, hoping she’d be better at reassuring him than she had the guards, ‘I’m not dying just yet.’

‘No sir.’

He smiled back at her but she noted he had his wrist already in his hand, taking her pulse. She also noticed the way the strain in his eyes had returned, the slight wrinkle over the bridge of his nose reasserting itself once again.

‘Relax,’ she told her handsome Captain Apollo as she slumped further down in the seat, wishing she had the energy to curl up more comfortably under the throw he was arranging over her, ‘Not missing dinner with the two of you and Kara.’

‘Of course not, sir.’

She caught of the glint of grief in his eyes the same way she’d caught the humour earlier and she wondered almost absently about the dynamic of the extended family Adama even as she passed out under his watchful eye.

***

‘Well,’ she heard the deep gravelly voice of her Admiral remark in seemingly the next moment, ‘I think we’ve officially started a new family tradition.’

Annoyed at awakening _again_ in a hospital bed, this time in Cottle’s sickbay, she looked up to see Bill sitting to her left once again. He was speaking to his son, but he was smiling at her, so at least there was that.

 _And I’m done_ , she thought. _Done fighting it._ Maybe they didn’t have long, maybe she’d break him in the end. It was something she'd fought so hard to prevent, to put anyone in the position of grieving for her the way she'd had to do for her family. Billy would miss her, but he was young and resilient and given how desperately she'd needed him, she hadn't had much choice. But she'd decided, at some point over the last year, that at the very most she'd limit the damage to him. Looking back, she knew she'd been holding back, even as she'd embarked on this journey with Bill, that she'd been trying to protect him, at least a little, by denying the strength of her feelings for him, even as he all but hit her over the head with his. But she was done pretending, at the very least to herself, that he didn’t own whatever was left of her. She hadn’t realized she could still feel, hadn’t realized she could still learn the glory of forging that type of a connection with someone, but...

_There you go. When you know, you know._

Reading the concern in his eyes now, a part of her she wished she could take it back, go back to that sterile room on Caprica, freeze him out, protect him in some way, but she knew full well it was no longer possible. Known it full well when he'd walked into the room on the heels of Richard Adar. Maybe even before. Maybe that day she'd enjoyed laughing with him that first time, with the taste of rich coffee on her lips and a sense of hope in her heart.

 _Sometimes it just happens_ , she heard him say again in the recesses of her memory, the ghost of his voice from a different bed in a different place whispering through. _Sometimes you just know._

Trying to control her emotions, or at least get them _somewhat_ under control, she looked up at her two Adama boys, careful to include Lee in her gaze as well.

‘I hope you didn’t hold supper.’

She was pleased to see Lee’s answering smile, the strain gone from his posture, seemingly at ease in that moment with both her and his father. Though this was her first opportunity to observe the two together, she'd gathered from her conversations with Bill that this sense of ease around each other was in itself a reason to be thankful. If this moment was all she could accomplish during her time on this shiny new Battlestar with these remarkable people, then it would have been worth it in of it self.

‘I see our sleeping beauty has finally deigned to join us,’ she heard as the strong smell of cigarette smoke alerted her to Cottle’s _somewhat_ welcome appearance. Then again, maybe it hadn’t _all_ been worth it. She grimaced, knowing she’d just been officially shoved from the warmth of the Adama embrace to Cottle’s less than welcoming domain in that moment.

‘Doctor,’ she greeting him politely. ‘My apologies for the inconvenience.’

He was clearly having none of her sass.

‘Couldn’t resist, could you?’

Barely glancing at her, he dismissed her guardian angels, all the while assessing her with the warmth of an EKG machine. The moment they were alone, she braced herself, knowing she had it coming. She knew she was in for it; known the moment he'd walked in without even bothered to put out the cigarette currently dangling from the side of his mouth.

‘Are you going to smoke that or just keep it around to annoy me?’ she asked.

‘Depends. How much are you going to make me regret letting you into my sickbay?’

‘Didn’t know I was such an annoyance,’ she shot back.

‘Were my instructions unclear?’ he asked, faking ignorance and taking care to give her the same look she might a particularly obtuse undergrad.

‘Think they were pretty clear; followed them all to the letter,’ she told him. ‘Not that I had any choice in the matter,’ she muttered under her breath, thinking of the constant Marine escort Bill had assigned her. She knew it wasn’t because she was perceived as a security threat. It was pretty clear it wasn’t protocol, pretty clear they were most likely there as a result of their extensive first-aid training.

'Any _care_ you took in following my instructions wasn't a result of your effort,’ Cottle grumbled at her. ‘I told you to take it easy. I told you to be careful; in what you did, in what you ate. I told you I wasn’t sure how long you could keep it up.’

 _I told you I wasn’t sure how long this marvellous sense that you might actually live might last_ , she heard in the barely concealed subtext in his voice. 

‘Dr. Baltar,’ he practically spit the name, ‘is supposed to be here in a couple of days, his schedule _permitting_ , with the latest test results, and then we’ll have a better idea of what to expect with your condition. In the meantime, it would be of significant help to me and my staff if you could cease traipsing around the ship.’

She smiled wryly and ducked her head, acknowledging the hit.

‘Or at least,’ he grunted, ‘if you stop passing out all over the senior officers.’

Arranging her hospital gown to his satisfaction, he passed his stethoscope to her chest.

‘At this rate, someone’s going to break an ankle.’

She laughed out loud despite herself.

‘Gods forbid.’

‘Hmph.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too obvious a call-out? :)
> 
> "The lesson here is to not ask follow-up questions, but simply to say 'Thank you, Captain Apollo.' "


	16. Ties That Bind

Her indiscretion (passing out despite doctor's orders), ended up costing her three days in Cottle’s domain. His ‘gentle’ ministrations were almost enough to make her scream by the end of the final day, at which time she was seriously considering mutiny. The punishment couldn’t be worse, surely than being stranded in this hospital bed where the only breaks in the monotony were needles, bad food and Cottle’s sarcastic comments. The cigarette smoke, in addition to the constant supervision and the unflinching fluorescent lights must be taking their toll, she thought, because she was contemplating whether it was better to stab her way out using a homemade knife or throw herself on the mercy of anyone willing to help her make a prison break.

 _I swear_ , she thought, _if he lights that godsdamn cigarette in front of me one more time…_ How bad could this brig thing be, really? She had no idea what a brig was, honestly, but it couldn’t be worse than this. Though, when she had mentioned that thought to one of the Marine escorts who were pretty much constant, hovering protectively, she’d gently patted her on the back as though congratulating her on her naivety.

She had enjoyed a near constant stream of visitors, a luxury she hadn’t had in the much more comfortable Caprican hospital (though realistically, a hospital was a hospital when it came down to it, fancy touches be damned. The only advantage on Caprica was privacy, and truly, she'd had way too much of that). Thankfully for everyone’s sanity, somehow Bill and Lee never ended up spending too long together at her bedside, dancing carefully around her and each other as if to ensure no one overstayed their welcome. She expected she'd had Starbuck to thank for that. For a girl who at times seemed as uncomfortable with herself as Kara Thrace was, she seemed to have an uncanny intuitive ability to work around her family members' neuroses. Laura privately thought it was the pilot’s way of avoiding digging too deeply into her own. She obviously tried hard not to spend too much time alone in her own head, something Laura could appreciate.

In any case, Laura had truly enjoyed getting to know Bill's family these last few days, the increased familiarity with Lee and Kara the silver lining to her forced stay with Cottle. As an added bonus, she'd had enough company to watch over her to convince Billy, who’d finally made it safely aboard, that it was safe for him to explore the reminder of the massive ship with some new friends he'd made since coming aboard.

Still, Baltar was due the next day, and the resulting dread which creeping slowly into her bones was an unwelcome distraction from fully enjoying her time with her new friends. She'd hoped she'd have more time to enjoy this world Bill had provided a little before she would be forced to put up with that frakweasel but it was not to be. The only saving grace was that his pressing speaking engagements on the Colonies had meant he'd been delayed getting here and wouldn't be able to stay long in any case. Still. She’d so enjoyed this illusion of a life, it seemed a waste to spend what was left of it in Cottle’s care. Especially when there was this lovely area just down the hall, complete with a remarkable man with such presence and whom might be convinced to keep her warm…

Hearing the soft tread of footsteps coming down the hall, she prepared to go a full nine rounds with Cottle, if necessary, regarding her current living arrangements, she was thrown off balance when her favourite Admiral walked in instead.

‘Madame Secretary.’

‘Admiral,’ she said, quirking her brow at him, teasing him regarding his unaccustomed formality. The smile she received made her glad she’d decided to do so. She waved him into the nearby chair, but to her surprise, he remained standing, apparently at ease.

‘Cottle tells me you’re improving...’

‘Really?’ she said, annoyed. ‘’Cause he fails to tell me anything other than what a rotten patient I am.’

Though to be fair, she was.

He smirked, but only for a moment.

‘So I wondered if you might be up for a change of scenery. You might join us for dinner?’

 _Whether I might be up for a change in scenery… Why, you little…_ she was ready to strangle him before she caught of that smirk once more, the expression almost hidden behind the stoic facade.

‘Why, thank you, Admiral. I’ll do my best to clear my schedule.’

Bowing ever so slightly, he retreated from the fray.

‘I’ll return to escort you at seven.’

She glanced at the large, ugly, military clock on the wall, done in black wrought iron. Great. That gave her thirty-three minutes.

‘Too kind.’

***

If she’d thought him handsome in the blue uniform he seemed to live in (she later learnt they were in fact referred to as _Duty Blues_ ), when he showed up in the fancier Dress Greys he again took her breath away. But this time in a _very good_ way. She smiled at him in welcome.

‘You look very spiffy.’

He smiled in pleased acknowledgement, offering her his arm as they walked out together into the increasingly familiar slanted grey walls of his ship.

‘Are there others joining us this evening?’

‘Starbuck, Apollo,’ he deep voice grumbled, its timber seeming to echo pleasantly into her bones as they walked along.

‘My X.O. and his wife.’

Was there the slightest hesitation there?

‘X.O.?’

‘Executive Officer. Saul Tigh. And his wife, Ellen.’

 _Definitely something there…_ she thought.

***

There had been a hesitation, she’d been right, and after an evening spent in the company of the Tighs, Laura could understand why. She hadn’t thought she’d ever meet a woman who (almost) overwhelmed Kara in impact. In presence, in voice, in _everything_. 

Apparently, she’d been wrong.

Though that alone had almost been worth the price of admission.

Ellen Tigh was one of the most outrageous women Laura had ever met, and that included the socialites who clustered around Richard Adar like bees around the honey pot. Ellen seemed to dress entirely in shades of pastel pink, but her almost aggressive femininity belied the sharp, tough woman underneath. Sharp-witted, intelligent and funny, shrill and overly loud, she was a force to be reckoned with. While the amount of alcohol she consumed (matched in this regard only by her husband), _may_ have been responsible for her outrageous behaviour at dinner, Laura doubted it. The woman exuded _frustration_ , both with her situation and with her husband’s clear determination to serve at Bill’s side. The couple did seem devoted to each other, and it was clear, despite their obvious problems, that they did love each other very much. Even if this devotion did lead to serious problems for other people.

Still, Laura wondered… There was simply _something_ about the Tighs. Ellen’s frustrations clearly went beyond her anger at her husband’s intransigence regarding his service in the Colonial Navy. She was clearly not at ease with her entire life. It was if Ellen had found herself trapped in a life so far from what she could have imagined that she simply could not find a way to make it work. Instead, it was like she was a square peg in a round hole, as her sense of purpose cut off and then shoehorned into her husband’s career and life.

 _Ellen Tigh was bored,_ Laura thought, and thus ripe for mischief. And mischief she had found at that glorious frakking dinner party.

In the name of all that was holy, what had inspired Ellen to play footsie with Apollo? _Oh gods, the look on his face!_ Laura snorted out a laugh, remembering Apollo's reaction. Starbuck had caught on immediately, which was not surprising, but instead of coming to his aid, she had simply sat there and smirked, watching, as if the entire development was a show arranged for her entertainment. She would have kept feeding Ellen booze as well, if Laura had not _accidentally_ failed to hear her request to pass the bottle. Poor Lee. He’d nearly knocked over the table in his rush to get up and away.

Bill seemingly hadn’t notice, distracted by his grief over Zak, after Ellen had, blissfully unaware, yammered on with her comparisons between the two Adama boys. Though with Bill, Laura, thought, you never really know. At times you could almost read his mind, looking as his eyes expressed every aspect of his soul. At times, though, you couldn't tell if he'd even noticed the byplay taking place all around him. As she'd met his eyes across the table while Ellen blathered on and Saul had desperately tried to stop her, she tried to express with her eyes the sympathy for the grief you could see radiating off him.

By the (early) end to the night, the Tighs had been well and truly knackered. Bill had therefore decided it was best to escort them back to their quarters, indicating to Laura that he intended to stop by and check in the C.I.C. on his way back. She’d smiled and told him she and the kids (as she increasingly thought of Bill’s son and ‘daughter’), would take care of cleaning up, and they’d had every intention of doing so. The fact that most of the dishes were still on the table when he returned wasn’t entirely their fault, she’d told him. They’d simply gotten distracted running through the events of the evening and egging each other on with further descriptions of the nuances the others had missed. They were simply worried they’d drop the dishes, Kara interjected, especially since they were laughing so hard. There had also been some drinking of their own going on, Kara would admit, trying not to burst into laughter again every time she caught Lee's eye. Laura had been careful to abstain from drinking, though she'd enjoyed their camaraderie, knowing that even without cancer treatments she would have been out of her league.

Caught by a noise near the hatch, she'd watched as Bill walked into laughter, his quarters ringing with the brightness his company had brought. She'd caught his eye in turn as he walked over all the way, enjoying the glint in his eye, enjoying the way he kept his eyes on Lee, seeming to soak in the moment. Watching him, she'd almost missed it when moonshine had come spurting out of Starbuck’s nose after a particularly dry comment from Lee regarding her failure to come to her wing man's aid earlier. If Laura _had_ seen it, she could have told Bill it was the second time in as many minutes that that particular event had occurred.

She’d noticed from the beginning how much more at ease he was with Kara than he ever was with Lee, and yet she still saw the scars all three carried from Zak’s death, though there always seem there was an extra weight on Bill's shoulder. It was clear that shared grief had been a major factor in bonding him to his youngest son’s erstwhile fiancee, even as it had created an _almost_ unbridgeable cavern in his relationship with his oldest. It was also clear that Zak’s loss had twisted, to some extent at least, the natural bond between the two younger pilots currently sitting at the table, but there was only so much she could do on that front. Though obviously devoted to each other, the ghost of the youngest Adama stood almost tangibly between them at times, something they’d have to deal with moving forward, either as friends, which they obviously were, or as... something else. She hoped they would, however, as they were well matched.

In any case, there had only been a minute pause when Bill could watch his kids in peace unobserved, and she had enjoyed observing it on her part before he made the decision to re-engage in the conversation. She had also seen him almost physically re-emerge from that faraway place he’d gone to in his brain as he watched Lee lose himself, for once, in the moment, as Kara’s friendship and infectious presence had allowed them all to forget where they were and the complications of their respective roles. She seemed to be the only person able to get either of the Adamas out of their own way, out of their own heads. Laura liked to think she’d might on day play a part in that way, at least for Bill, be that partners in distracting him from the strain he wore almost discernibly while he remained in his son’s orbit.

Lee's anger was there, she could see it radiating off him, anger at the world and fate and his father, but so was the grief. It was as if he’d lost his brother and his father in one fell stroke, and she supposed, in some ways, he had, though she was hopeful that the surviving Adamas might get each other back, the relationship between father and son was, at least, not torn asunder permanently. Lee was twisted up inside, she’d thought, in that moment they’d met, he had betrayed it in every move he made around her. She’d seen it throughout their (admittedly short) acquaintance. Starbuck had been right, he needed to unwind, and despite appearances to the contrary, it seemed like this was the ideal environment for him to do so.

‘ – so I’m bearing down at this target, while Kelly is screaming in my ear to stay out of the _Valkyrie_ ’s defensive barrage, as if I’m some rook or something – ’ Kara was telling Lee.

‘Gods forbid,’ Bill interjected wryly, his deep, gravelly voice contrasting nice with Kara’s higher tones. He smiled at his favourite pilot, his whole demeanour softening, as it seemed it often was with her.

She snorted and shot back the remainder of her drink.

‘Gods forbid.’

The tension had returned momentarily to Lee’s shoulders, but the magic engendered by Kara’s presence still lingered.

‘Gods forbid,’ he said softly, completing the ritual, his smile hesitant at first before he relaxed back into the moment, seeming to convince himself to remain at ease with his father.

Kara smirked while she stood, and then, ignoring all protocol as she seeming always did, pulled Lee to his feet. 

‘Come on Apollo, time to head out. You can buy me a drink as payment for the rest of the story. Totally worth it, I promise. Anyway, these two need their rack time.’

Laura blushed, _Ah, Kara._ Fascinated, she watched the answering flush spread across Lee’s face.

‘Kara!’ He reprimanded her sharply.

‘What?’ She gave him a patently false look of innocence. ‘Laura needs her rest. Otherwise who knows, she might pass out on me next.’

Laura snorted, and watched as they all laughed and Bill stood, preparing to shoo them out the door. She couldn’t help it; it was obvious from Lee and Kara’s reactions that her presence in Bill's Quarters was in itself unusual. This, and their obvious willingness to welcome her, made her feel even more at home. She smiled quietly to herself.

_That was it. I'm never leaving._

Looking up at Bill, she caught the answering twinkle in his eye.

‘Alright, Starbuck,’ he said, before looking over indulgently at Kara, ‘take Apollo and get out of here. Try not to get him into too much trouble.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. He’s perfectly able to get into trouble all by his little lonesome.’

Bill laughed out loud again at that one, and she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch his arm in shared joy.

‘Just like when we fly together,’ Starbuck continued. ‘He’s almost able to keep up with me.’

‘Almost?’

The look of insult on Lee’s face was almost comical. 

‘It’s a compliment Apollo; learn to recognize it. You’re a great flier. Stick with me and try to keep up.’

‘Your dreams, Starbuck.’


	17. Confessions and Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, a lot of my writing for this fandom involves Adama / Roslin having the conversations I wished they'd had. So buckle up. This chapter lives up to its name. And it's only the beginning.
> 
> (Yup. I'm here to provide you with all the space opera action you can dream of ;) - Phew. Phew. - There you go. You're welcome.)
> 
> A little less action here, a little more conversation.

‘Your dreams, Starbuck.’

Laura smiled as the two younger adults left, still arguing as they went. They were clearly going to make it a long night.

‘Captain Apollo. It has a nice ring to it,’ she told his father.

‘Doesn’t work like that,’ Bill corrected her absently as he collected both of their glasses, moving to get them both more water. ‘It’s simply Apollo. Or Captain Adama. Sometimes just Adama.’

She smiled at him in amusement as she moved to curl up on the couch, abandoning her shoes gratefully on the floor as she did so, happy to be in her new favourite spot once again and keeping the light throw nearby even though she didn't need it at the moment.

‘Must get confusing on a ship full of Adamas.’

‘That’s unlikely to have ever happened,’ he told her, laughing wryly as he handed her her refilled glass, the condensation from the cool water pleasant on her fingers. ‘At most there’s only ever just been one.’

‘I imagine they’d be reluctant to have close family members serving on the same ship anyway. Too much conflict of interest, for lack of a better term,’ she mused aloud.

‘Suppose, though I’d never really thought of it like that. It is rare, though, very rare for a Commander having children serve under them.’ His mouth twisted, but there was humour there too. ‘Hard enough having one child on board, having to put them in harms way, I’d imagine, let alone two or three.’

‘Well, yeah,’ she pondered, ‘I mean, what are the odds of that happening, anyway? Except in an extreme situation. Anyway, I don’t imagine your Admiralty would be keen on it happening any way.’

‘’Xactly. Mostly they try to avoid close family members serving together, just in case…’

She shuddered, thinking of Zak.

‘It would take too heavy a toll.’

‘Yes.’ He looked away, suddenly focusing once again on the depths of the glass of water he held in his hand before taking a long sip.

‘It’s a good thing, then,’ she told him trying to lighten the mood, which had turned unexpectedly mournful and grateful to have his attention once again. ‘I’m sure Lee wouldn’t entirely enjoy serving underneath you long-term, and really it’s best he gets out of your shadow, anyway. Which I’m sure is a long one.’

There was the smile she loved.

‘Not that long.’

‘Um-hum.’

‘Though you’re right; it’s always been better when he has his own space. I pushed him and Zak into the Service…’ he drifted off even as he sat down next to her again, just a little bit closer than last time, the body heat radiating off of him a welcome balm.

‘Into the Service or into the cockpit?’

He winced. ‘Both.’

 _Ahh_ , she thought.

‘It complicates things. With Lee.’

‘Yes.’

‘He blames you?’

Again he refused to meet her eyes.

‘Yes.’

 _As do you._ No wonder the tension was there.

‘Still it suits him, Lee, I mean, whether he sees it or not.’

‘The Service? Yes.’

‘Yes.’ She thought again of the way he held himself, of the way her escorts, Venner, even Starbuck, looked at him. ‘I don’t know; the life, the Command? It suits him. like it suits you.’

‘Lee’s a natural leader,’ he told her, still seemingly unsure. 'He would command any situation, or any walk of life. The Service, business, even…’ he grimaced, ‘politics.’

‘Well, yes,’ she paused, smiling wryly at him, trying not to laugh at his obvious distaste of her chosen profession, ‘even politics. But even if he doesn’t see it, he fits here.’

They sat quietly for a moment, but just as she wondered if she’d overstepped, and should apologize, he spoke once again.

‘If he chooses to stay.’

‘You don’t think he will.’

It didn't take long, not much thought at all, to move in closer, to touch his arm lightly in comfort.

‘I think he’s angry at me, at what I represent.’

Yes, she could see that.

‘He’s told you that.’

‘Umm. Often. He was on, we were on, our best behaviour tonight. It was nice.’

 _They tried their best tonight, that's what he's saying. For me_ , she thought. _Wow_.

‘Be that as it may, he forgot to be angry tonight.'

_You forgot to feel guilty._

'Maybe that’s something you can build on.’

‘I'm not sure it wasn't a one-time blessing. He wanted you to relax tonight. He likes you,’ he told her, smiling slightly.

‘I hope so,’ she said, laughing quietly, pleased at the compliment and that fact the laughter bubbling out came out without pain. ‘I think the truth is, he likes Kara. He forgets himself with her. She makes it easy for him to live in the moment. Like he did tonight.’

‘Yes,’ he looked at her directly. ‘He and Starbuck, they’re a natural fit, always have been – ’

 _In more ways than one_ , she thought.

‘ – but it was clear he enjoyed your company as well. You smooth things over.’

The man gave such outrageous compliments.

It was true, she’d wanted, very much for Bill’s kids, for his family, to like her. She might only have this one shot, she’d thought, to make a warm first impression. Thankfully it had gone well. More than well. They’d simply bonded, the four of them, a feeling she hadn’t had in a long, long time. Maybe not before that long ago day of the fateful baby shower when she’d wedged herself between her two sisters on her living room couch.

‘He’s staying for a couple more days? Lee?’

‘Yes. I asked him to extend his time here. He’s on leave and he wants to head down to Caprica for a quick visit with his mother before heading back, but he’s still got plenty of time.’

Hmm. She wondered if they should talk about it, this mysterious Caroline Adama, the mother of Zak and Lee, the woman whose ring still sat on Bill’s ring finger.

 _Frak it_ , she thought, suddenly.

If Caroline wanted to be here, she’d be here. If there were still feelings, ring or not, he would have mentioned it. It was apparent his ex-wife was no longer in the picture, and really, was there anything else she needed to know? Probably not.

‘That works out well,’ she said instead. ‘I’ll have a bit more time with him before – ’ _that frakweasel_ ‘ - Baltar arrives.’ 

‘Baltar.’ He looked quizzically at her once more. ‘I've been meaning to ask you about that. Adar put the two of you together.’

He put things together fast, she thought. She also noticed that while he also spoke in a respectful tone when speaking of Richard, he never referred to him as President Adar. It was always simply Adar. Considering the context, she wasn’t surprised he wasn’t overly deferential regarding her former boss. Still, he’d called her Madame Secretary a thousand times since they’d first met. In addition, his crew always respectfully addressed her as ‘sir’, not the ‘ma’am’ she would have expected as a ‘friend’ of the Admiral. Instead, they always called her ‘sir’; representative of her role as a senior member of government, in respect for the presence of a Cabinet minister, even though she was technically on hiatus. ‘Sir.’ Always and despite her gender. She rather liked it. It gave her a warm glow sometimes, their professionalism and the respect they insisted on giving her.

‘Adar put us together,’ she confirmed to the remarkable man sitting in front of her, acknowledging her weakness, knowing this time he would press. He was too far in; she’d shared too many of her secrets to back out now.

Needing his warmth now, if she was going to confess the most unfortunate decision of her life, she gave up pretending and snuggled in all the way into his side, his arm raising automatically to make a place for her against his chest before drawing the throw over her side and wrapping around her.

Now this, this was what she'd wanted. Cuddled into his strength and his warmth and the delightful smell of citrus and leather and him which wrapped over her to comfort her, she abandoned all pretense and just cuddled in. 

_How long had it been since she'd let herself just be held like this? Too long._

‘That part I figured out that day with Dr. Fledgle,’ he reminded her. ‘The part I don’t get is why you’d let him get away with it.’

He looked at her quizzically, non-judgmental, simply trying to get her to explain why’d she’d let herself go so far down this path, when she’d clearly had no interest in it; Baltar, whatever treatments he was giving, whatever tests he was subjecting her to. She sighed before looking at him with rueful regret.

Then again, without Dr. Baltar’s treatments, who knew? Maybe she wouldn’t have made it this far. Maybe she would never have had a chance to meet him, let alone the family which followed behind him like some rag-tag fugitive fleet.

‘Truthfully,’ she told him, ‘I never intended to go anywhere near that man and his crackpot theories regarding my cancer and his ability to cure it.’

‘Yet you did.’

It wasn’t a question, yet it went beyond the quiet statement of reality she heard. How could she explain without looking weak? Without looking like the pathetic husk of a woman she knew herself to be? It was her own fault, that she knew, but she was reluctant to expose her frailties. Though gods know, by now he’d seen most of them…

‘It seemed like the lesser of two evils,’ she admitted to him softly, so softly he had to lean in closer to hear her. Bracing herself, she took a sip of the water she clutched in a death grip before risking looking up into his glorious blue gaze. She could trust this man, she did trust this man, she reminded herself.

‘Do you remember the teachers’ strike?’ She asked him suddenly, before she lost her nerve.

She saw the slight frown touch his brow as he answered, trying to determine whether she was trying to avoid the question and where she was going with the apparent non-sequitur.

She smiled wryly.

‘It make me famous, or at least infamous. Before then, I’d just been a junior member of the Cabinet, albeit one with an unusual degree of access to the President,’ she winced before continuing, ‘which we passed off as a result of our long-standing friendship and the fact I’d been with him since he’d first run for public office. I was forty-third in the line of succession, if that gives you any idea of how far down I was in the hierarchy of the government. People barely knew who I was, at least in anything other than general terms.’

‘People underestimated you,’ he said gravelly.

She laughed wryly. He gave the most outrageous compliments for such a quiet man.

‘People underestimate teachers,’ she corrected him gently. ‘It was one of the reasons they went so far with the strike. I could have warned them about that, it was one of the reasons the blow-back to the strike was so extreme, but…’

‘They wouldn’t have believed you.’

‘No. In any case, they were determined. People had underestimated them for too long, had too long insisted they stay in their little niches. I get it, believe me. I’ve been there.’

Seeing him tilt his head in question, she continued.

‘People will trust us to educate their children, but gods forgive you have an outside life. Or an interest in politics for that matter. Teachers are supposed to stick to reading, writing and arithmetic and leave the real world to adults.’

‘Ouch.’

She laughed. ‘Sorry, I’ll climb off my soapbox now. Anyway, as I said, it was one of the reasons why the blow-back was so extreme when they moved to more hard-line tactics after the strike had dragged on for months, almost a full year in the end. Picket lines, the violence after Adar threatened to bring in replacement teachers, etc.’

‘And the teacher's union's reaction was one of the reasons Adar was so angry at you?’

‘Adar, the entire government. Meanwhile the parents wanted to do anything to make it all go away, no matter what. They were pressuring us to go to extremes; replacement teachers, back-to-work legislation, wholesale salary cuts, mass firings, the works. Whatever it would take to force the teachers back to the classrooms. The longer it dragged on, the more desperate it got, and the more inept we all looked.’

‘Hence your name everywhere.’

‘My face, everywhere. The radio, ads, political posters, attack ads, all of it. Both sides wanted me gone, and after a while I _became_ the problem. People had come to see me as the ultimate symbol of all that which had gone wrong with our education system.’

‘I’m impressed Adar stood by you,’ he told her, even as he looked as if he’d swallowed something foul.

‘I was too, at the time. Later I found out his agenda.' She laughed a bit. 'Though even at the time I knew it was more a question of having a convenient scapegoat than a question of sticking by me.’

He grinned.

‘They play hardball in your world.’

‘Tell me about it. Still. You’re telling me Admiralty politics aren’t equally rough. I’ve heard the stories.’

‘You have, eh?’

‘Isn’t that how you ended up in Adar’s office all those Wednesdays? Saul Tigh may have dropped a hint or two,’ she told him in response to his unspoken question.

He dipped his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement of her hit.

‘There’s more to the story than that, but… yes. Or close enough. Still, I wouldn’t have thought that even Richard Adar would throw away loyalty like that. It’s hard enough to find someone you can trust. You don’t throw that away.’

She smiled openly at him, recognizing he was revealing as much about his own leadership style as his opinion regarding Adar’s. She wondered what it might be like to be able to live in his world. Adar, she thought ruefully, had no problem throwing a loyal subordinate under the bus, if it got him out of a jam.

‘In any case,’ she continued, ‘there was a moment about a year ago when I saw an opening. The head of the union, Harry Styles was his name, was under as much heat as I was, and for a moment, just briefly, he was willing to meet me partway. Not halfway, but at least partway.’

‘You saw an opportunity.’

‘I did. A small one. And one with a definite expiry date. I’d managed to talk him into an informal meeting, off the record. Not to be noted on his official schedule or mine.’

‘Away from the cameras.’

‘Away from everything. The cameras, the lawyers, the other reps, my staff, his, everyone. Just him and me.’

‘You did see an opportunity. And you took it.’

‘I did, but as I said, there were conditions. Conditions and a very small window. I knew I couldn’t afford to miss it. Otherwise I wasn’t sure how we could out of this stalemate. We agreed to meet completely off the record. I couldn't tell Adar, let alone my staff. So I cancelled everything and went off to meet him. The only thing I couldn’t cancel was this appointment that my doctor had insisted I keep, so I moved it to the morning, and arranged the meet with Styles, the union leader, for the early afternoon.’

She felt him freeze, his arm tightening briefly around her, almost painful in how hard he gripped her. _Damn he was quick._ It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw a moment of intense pain flit across his stoic features as he put the pieces together. She saw him close his eyes, just briefly, as it hit him. Then he focused on her again, careful to loosen his grip so she didn't bruise.

‘Fledgle.’

‘No, actually,’ she told him. ‘This was about five doctors back. A specialist my own doctor had pushed me into seeing when the aches in my bones simply refused to go away.’

He clucked his tongue softly.

‘You met with this doctor – ’

‘Sanderson.’

‘ - Sanderson - the morning before you and Styles had arranged the off the book meeting.’

‘Yeah. Assuming everything went well, then I’d tell Richard about my progress at a meeting later that afternoon. He wanted to check in about what the doctor had told me in any case.’

He winced.

‘That’s quite the day.’

She laughed.

‘Yeah. Anyway, the meeting with Sanderson ended up taking way more time than I’d anticipated.’

She could hear the tears threatening under her voice, and struggled to hold it together.

‘It probably would have gone longer if I hadn’t walked out on him shortly after he started talking,’ she told him with the tears still standing in her eyes. ‘He was a bit of an ass.’

Bill laughed, seemingly despite himself, and she joined him, glad this part of the story was done. She’d managed to get it out with only the slightest amount of whining.

‘All in all,’ she concluded, ‘it was an eventful day.’

‘I imagine’, he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand briefly in support. ‘The second meeting went better than the first, I take it?’

‘Immeasurably. Styles and I came to a remarkably fair agreement, though even at the time I wasn’t sure it would actually work.’

‘It did,’ he said, clearly remembering something he’d read. ‘You signed a new long-term contract with them shortly thereafter.’

‘We did,’ she said, feeling again the pride and relief she’d felt on that day as they finished they hammered out the details that would lead to an official signing ceremony which would keep peace in that sector for the next five years. ‘My staff and the union lawyers managed to hammer out all the details shortly thereafter.'

‘You were an overnight sensation,’ he said, smiling at her.

She laughed again. ‘From zero to hero. I knew it wouldn’t last, though I was surprised how often I end up on the morning talk shows that week. Really, it was a bit surprising.’

‘You were the face of the negotiations,’ he pointed out. ‘Whether they failed or succeeded, you were always going to end up with the responsibility. Plus, you brokered the original deal.’

‘Well, yeah, you’re right, but still… You’re better at this than you pretend,’ she remarked slyly.

‘I hold my own,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘Or least, I did, until this last year. Adar, though, wasn’t as impressed as the morning news circuit, I’m guessing?’

She frowned. ‘No. In fact - ’

‘In fact – ’

She hesitated. ‘I suppose you’ve figured out most of it already. Still feel like I’m telling secrets out of school. Especially this next bit.’

For a moment he looked at her directly, almost in reproach. ‘Your secrets have always been safe with me, Laura.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look ma - a cliffhanger! 
> 
> Hopefully you'll all forgive me, there's quite a lot of ground for our two lovebirds to cover if they are going to get it all in the open and I'm not prepare to dump it all on you at once.
> 
> Also, if you noticed, there's some welcome if careful cuddling (gasp) going on here. You can thank MaeveofKobol for her suggestion here, I didn't think of it originally, but when I wrote it, I thought some difficult confessions might go down easier with a little physical comfort. (Dr_Roslin challenge - how many times can I put cuddle in one sentence.) Plus, let's admit it, we needed it!


	18. Out in the Open

For a moment he looked at her directly, almost in reproach.

‘Your secrets have always been safe with me, Laura.’

‘Never doubted it,’ she told him seriously. ‘It’s just that – oh it doesn’t matter. No. Adar was far from pleased. He'd thought I'd been too... soft. And he made sure I understood that. And, he worried about - optics.’

'Bullshit. He worried signing the deal would make you too prominent.'

_Too much of a threat._

She winced as she remembered the scene in Adar's office as she’d walked in, prepared to share her triumph and to get his help moving forward, both regarding the strike and her cancer diagnosis. Now, over a year later, sitting in the cozy quarters of a Colonial Battlestar, somewhere she could not have imagined every visiting, let alone _living_ , she wondered how it would have turned out if he had. Suddenly unable to deal with the almost unbearable joy of having Bill's arm around her, she stood up abruptly, or as abruptly as she could, even as his hand trailed down the length of her arm and hung in the air a millisecond, gently ghosting over that very spot where her hand had been a moment before. 

‘I told him that if he wanted my job he would have to fight me for it. He would have to fire me, _publicly_ , repudiate the deal and handle the teachers himself.’

‘With you on the other side?’

This part was easy, this part was strategy, and tactics. This part was facts. 

‘Maybe, though I wasn’t really thinking of it like that. More like the fact that the press would have jumped all over him, the teacher’s union would have made his life a living hell, and he would probably have lost the upcoming election. He would have had to have negotiated a deal, then, no matter how much to their favour as he would have been seen as personally responsible for his administration’s failures once he'd fired me.'

'Appropriate, given he is the President, Laura' and she could have sworn she heard him mumble into his glass, 'gods know why.'

Pacing quietly through the dim light of Bill's quarters, Laura cradled her glasses carefully in her right hand, considering all the angles from a year's worth of perspective.

'Yes, but... He would have lost all credibility for mishandling the crisis that badly. People wanted that strike done.’ 

‘The perception - true - that he was throwing you under the bus wouldn’t have helped either.’

‘No. No matter how they would have spun it, even with the cancer diagnosis, which I didn't tell him about until later that week, for him to repudiate the deal after I’d spend months getting it, it would have hurt his standing, badly. Especially as I made it clear to him that I wasn’t planning to pull any punches in my public description of events leading to my departure from office.’

No wonder she couldn't meet his eyes. No wonder she found it easier to stare at the soft carpet at her feet, at her sensible pumps lying abandoned at the side of the overstuffed couch. Anything other than looking into his glorious gaze, anything to see that respect he'd always graced with her die. She concentrated instead on keeping her feet, spreading her stance slightly to aid in keeping steady on her feet, focused instead on keeping her balance.

‘I bet you did.’

_In for a penny, Laura,_ she reminded herself.

‘So we made a deal. He promise to honour my deal with Styles and I promise to resign afterwards, citing 'health reasons'.'

_Which was only slightly ironic._

That part done, she risked a glance in his direction to find him beaming at her, his approving smile as warm as the Caprican sun and his bright blue eyes sparkling like the sea it shone on. She missed that, she thought, the smell of the sea air, the feel of the ocean breezes ruffling the hairs at the back of her neck. The warmth of the sun of her face. She'd gone to visit the beach, the week before she'd met Bill, though it was still winter. She almost loved it more in winter, when she had the abandoned beach all to her self other than a few others willing to brave the winter cold. It had been mostly dog walkers, who joined her on the beach that day, the unrestrained joy of their fur buddies bringing a smile to her face. She wondered if she'd go back, one day. She wondered if Bill might like to join her, might unbend enough with her to take his shoes off and wiggle his toes in the sand.

‘You blackmailed him.'

‘No,’ she told him, smiling back, snapping her attention back to him and leaning against the arm of the couch to take another sip of water, ‘though I could have. I just… pressured him a bit.’

She left the remainder unsaid; the fact that she’d inferred to Richard during their showdown just how well she remembered where the numerous bodies were buried. She’d needed all the leverage she could get, the deal was to be her legacy and she had been determined to see it through. There had been no point in saving any of her political capital or pulling her punches, she’d thought at the time. Either way, she was unlikely to need it again. Either way, she and Richard had been done and in that moment, she'd gloried in it, the sense of finality, the sense that she was finally ending that distasteful chapter of her life. 

‘And Baltar?’

‘I know,’ she told Bill reluctantly, seeing the distaste for the erstwhile genius written in the turn of his lip, the curl of his eyebrow, though it was only subtly raised. 'I know. I know. Baltar was never my choice. In no universe I can imagine would working closely with Gaius Baltar be my choice.’

And yet, she'd agreed, to do exactly that.

She wondered how she could explain to her Admiral how it had ended up happening, to what degree she wanted to let him in. The solid arm of the couch now supporting her weight was reassuring, reminding her she no longer had to bear the weight of everything alone. And she'd long since made the decision to let him in. She just had to remember that he could handle the weight.

‘My mother, she died. Breast cancer when I was in college. It was a long… process, and I swore I would never take that route. The diloxin, the pain… have you ever known anyone who’s gone through it?’

He nodded slowly. Good. Well, not good, but - She felt for him, but at least she wouldn’t have to go through the agony of explaining all of it.

‘The diagnosis, that day… I told you. It was bad. I didn’t see the point of spending what was left of my life hooked up to IV drips and in constant pain. My plan was, as little as I’d thought it through, to find a way to manage the pain as I planned for… the end.’ She didn’t know how else to put it. ‘Anyway, from the looks I got from any number of doctors, they didn’t have much else to offer me.’

Again, she saw the pain and the sympathy reflected in his eyes, and wished again she could spare him what she hadn't been able spare herself. She wondered if she should really have pulled him into her orbit, but she knew how selfish she was, and she knew she could never be able to resist his warmth once she’d found it. Having found him, here was no way she was giving him up. Selfishly, she even wished she'd found him earlier. 

Though, really, she was feeling so much better. It wasn't just wishful thinking, right? She could enjoy this, a little bit. Moving to be closer to him, she perched on the edge of the seat of the couch, facing him with her body titled to the side and her hands claiming his, so she could face him as she explained. 

‘The research I did, during my mother’s illness, I learned so much. When it was - my turn - have you ever heard of chamalla?’

This time there was no mistaking it, he frowned openly at her in concern.

‘Laura, please tell me you aren’t... It’s like a hallucinogen. The side effects, delusions, visions, insomnia, and the whole nine… Please tell me you aren’t considering…’

‘I was on it for about six months,’ she blurted out, gripping his hands even tighter to ground herself while watching the shock in the way he looked at her.

_Please, Bill. Please, try to understand._

‘Honestly, it’s the only reason I’m still here. The pain,’ she told him. ‘It was unbearable. Chamalla, it was the only think which let me keep going.’

Suddenly he was even closer to her, wrapping her in his arms and his warmth, hauling her from the edge of the couch all the way into his lap, wrapping her into his arms and cuddling her to his chest. She shivered in the warmth of his body, soaking it in. It was a side-effect she hated the most of the cancer treatments, this constant chill in her bones. She resisted the urge to fold herself fully into his body, holding herself slightly away from him, if only by a fraction of an inch. She'd come this far, she had to finish, and if if she stopped now she’d lose her nerve.

‘And the delusions?’ he asked gently.

Did she experience the visions commonly associated with chamalla? Moments when the whole world blurred around her and she experienced a reality other than her own? When she saw an existence she knew didn’t really exist, where things she knew objectively she did not see, even in that moment, were so real that she knew they had to exist?

‘Yes,’ she said, so softly she wasn’t sure he would hear her, even as close as they were, refusing to look him in the face. She felt his sigh, connected as they were, and giving in to her ultimate weakness, she curled more fully into the man and the couch in which she found herself entwined, falling the final fraction of an inch until she was all the way there.

‘Yes,’ she continued, ‘I had,' _have_ 'them. They were beautiful, Bill. I know, I know, they weren’t real, but I still wish I could share them with you, so that you could share the beauty I saw. The places I experienced, the constellations I saw… you would have loved them.’

She could almost physically feel his concern as he watched her, even as she kept her face buried in his chest and he held her a little tighter, but she had to finish. If only she could explain…

‘The visions, you live in them, for lack of a better term. The entire time you experience them you know they can’t possibly be real, and yet… They were so beautiful you are convinced that they have to be real. I wish I could show you. Standing in the most beautiful clearing I’ve ever seen, in this amazing forest, gazing up at constellations I’ve never seen…that no one had ever seen. I knew it wasn’t real, but I know it could have been. I know that in another lifetime it was. And the entire time a part of me wished it _could_ be real.’

‘Laura – ’

‘No, Bill, listen. In another life, in another time, if my life had gone another way, I know it could actually have happened that way. I would actually have experienced that moment in those stunning woods I saw.’

She blinked away the tears, deciding not to tell him about the other, more disturbing, visions she’d experienced. Of pain, of death, of fire and torture and events and people she couldn't comprehend. Of hunger and fear and panic, of running, running, always running for her life. She tried to hold it together, hoping he didn’t think she’d gone completely around the bend. Hurriedly she sought to reassure him.

‘Anyway, I wasn’t on it very long, and the visions stopped relatively soon after I came off of it.'

_Mostly_.

'Unfortunately,’ she told him wryly, ‘so did the pain relief.’

‘Laura,’ he said softly, still holding her as close as he dared, clearly afraid of spooking her, ‘I can’t begin to understand what it must have been like, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m relieved that you’re no longer taking it.'

'I understand.'

'Even if,’ again he spoke softly, apparently trying to understand something of what she'd experienced, ‘you found it worthwhile.’

She laughed ruefully, shifting back into her position next to him on the couch, out of his lap but still in his arms as he again moved to wrap the warm woollen throw around her. Apparently she hadn't been fully able to hide her shivers from him.

‘Worthwhile is the question. The side-effects were as advertised, just not… as I expected. It’s funny, along the pain relief, the visions, some of them anyway, were the best part. At least, most of the time.’

‘Most of the time? Laura – ‘

She soothed him with a touch, trying to express with her hands what she couldn't with her words.

‘Most of the time, Bill, most of the time. The scary moments were rare, though before you ask, yes they were there. There were times when I wondered what was real, this life or the other, when I wondered whether I really was – ’ _losing my mind_. ‘But, honesty,’ she told him, 'those moments were rare. I was careful, and I always knew - '

_Mostly._

'- what was real and what wasn’t.’

‘Alright...’

‘Anyway,’ she confessed to him, knowing he’d seen the worst of it when she’d keeled over on him in the chairs in Adar’s office, ‘the point is, the chamalla was worth it. Honestly, if I had to, I’d do it again in a heartbeat, take the visions and the nausea, if it dealt with the pain.’

_Like she’d been hollowed out from the inside, the aches and the cold never-ending._

He winced but kept his eyes steady with hers, offering her comfort with his presence and his uncompromising support.

‘It’s funny,’ she told him, grateful for his quiet strength, ‘a few, memorable, moments aside, I’ve felt so much better since I’ve been here.’

‘The recycled air of the Fleet must be good for you,’ he told her, the mischief in his eyes failing to hide the lingering concern he clearly felt.

‘Must be. Either that or the cold vacuum of space seeping through the seams. I would definitely recommend this treatment to other cancer patients,' she teased him. 'I haven’t felt this good in a long time. Plus the food? Incredible.’

‘Good,' he smiled a little at her poor attempt at a joke. 'Can I ask? You weren’t on the chamalla long?’

‘No. It was, unh, one of the conditions of Baltar’s treatments. No foreign substances in my body. He wasn’t sure how it would react with his treatments, and he wanted to make sure the data was kept as pure as possible.’

‘Of course he did. So you’ve been seeing him for this past year?’

‘Yeah, over eight months though it feels longer. As you guessed, Adar put us together.’

‘Well,’ he shrugged, as he rose to get them both more water, making sure even as he did to tuck the edge of the throw in so she wouldn't be hit with a stray draft. ‘Everyone knows they’re close.’

‘Yeah, though – it just struck me. I never met Baltar before I started his treatments, and given how long I’ve known Adar - ’

‘ - And been so close?’

‘Be nice,’ she reprimanded him gently, acknowledging the hit.

It was nice, though, the teasing letting her know she wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t feel comfortable needling her, however gently. It had been a long time since anyone had been close enough to her to do so, and she was glad to having that type of friendship in her life again. Billy had tried, to fill that hole for her, but there was the age difference and the fact that she'd been his boss, and well, he'd always been so _worried_. It was another aspect of her new _friendship_ with Bill. It had been nice to see Billy relax a little bit more since Bill had been around. Nice to see him smile in relief as Bill took over some of the weight he'd been carrying this last year.

‘Anyway, Richard had made such a big deal publicly, in the media of how I was retiring for health reasons – ’

‘- and not because he was pissed at you for showing him up and he was afraid you were becoming a threat to him – ’

She laughed again.

‘Not the way I was feeling. Besides, that’s never really been my concern. The only reason I was in politics anyway was because I was there to support him and to get things done, and of all people, he should have known that. Still, he couldn't help it; he felt like he had to be doing _something_ to help me.’

‘Hence Baltar.’

‘Yes. Baltar. The genius Gaius Baltar. Maybe that was it all along - after Baltar saw a chance, with my cancer, to solidify his legacy, Richard hadn't been able to resist.'

Grateful for the water he brought to her, she smiled up at him, appreciating the view as she did so. 

'Anyway, I swear, the first time Richard brought it up I laughed in his face.’

She remembered that moment, sitting in her living room, still high on Chamalla, having to deal with the man whom she’d realized in that moment, could never hurt her again. Yet she’d still let him push her into his plan of treatment. She wondered why that was…

He grinned.

‘I would have liked to have seen that.’

‘Yes, well. I was pretty high at that point. Chamalla does tend to lower your inhibitions. It’s one of the lesser known side effects. I swear I wasn’t ever going to consider it, letting Baltar treat me’ she told him, laughing, ‘but Richard kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing, and… it was stupid, but I let myself remember why I’d been fond of him in the first place.’

'Clearly a mistake.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less of a cliffhanger and more of a pause - *evil laugh* 
> 
> Also, while reviewing this entire work to figure out how to move forward, I realized I was watching the Ciaran Hinds version of Persuasion entirely too often while writing this :) Can you blame me?


	19. Obligations Best Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it's Wild Card Friday!

_'...I let myself remember why I’d been fond of him in the first place.’_

_'Clearly a mistake.'_

The dry humour in his words hung in the air, and she grimaced, thinking of the truth in his words as he once again moved to sit next to her. She'd made so many mistakes when it came to Adar. Making herself more comfortable on the couch, curling into the comfy nest formed by the curve of the sectional, she was distracted by the painting which hung behind it. She wondered why it appealed so strongly to her. She’d never been a fan of military art, never been interested in any case in the ‘glorious’ deeds of military history which fascinated so many of her colleagues or in the military epics which played in the theatres. Whether it was the colonials fighting the Cylons or the colonials each other, she’d never really found the appeal in those tales of deering-do and noble self-sacrifice. It always seemed a bit overblown for her taste. Yet here she was, and there was just something about that painting…

‘It that really a Mount Clair?’

‘Yes,’ he said, though he never took his eyes off her face, clearly wondering about her focus.

She didn’t blame him, but there was just something about that painting… Besides being the work of one of the Colonies' most celebrated artists (now deceased and whose works ran into the hundreds of thousands), it didn’t seem to glorify war, really, just depict it in all its contradictions. The canvas itself was a large one, done in earth tones of amber and brown and apparently depicted a battle from the Cylon War, which, she just realized, Bill would have fought in. It shouldn’t have surprised her, this realization, he was the right age, and a pilot, it was just, as with everything she learned about him, there were always layers to discover when thinking of his past life.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she told him. It was. It fit so well in the room, in this cozy, masculine enclave, of books and worn couches and gloriously coloured antique rugs.

‘Thanks.’ He’d seemed to have decided not to push her, leaving her to finish the story on her own time, and she was grateful for that. ‘It was a present from my former father-in-law, when Caroline and I announced our engagement.’

She’d forgotten about the Tauron tradition of presenting one’s future son-in-law with a token of welcome. She’d always thought it a lovely gesture, one which mirrored the Caprican traditions regarding the presenting the new fiancée with an engagement ring, preferably a heirloom passed down through the generations.

‘He and Caroline's mother had helped me choose Caroline's engagement ring, thankfully; I had no idea where to begin. He said he wanted to make a gesture in return to embrace the traditions of my family and of his hopefully future grandchildren. It was also in appreciation, he said,’ Bill told her, watching her carefully, ‘for being so ready to embrace the traditions of his daughter's family and in consideration of the ways in which the new branch of the family we were creating would find ways to create new traditions of our own.’

‘Honor the old ways but embrace the new. He sounds like a lovely man.’

‘He was. He encouraged us to pass on the traditions of both cultures on to our sons,’ he said, the pride in his children obvious, and tinged with sadness over the loss of his youngest. ‘You can’t build the future without looking to the past, he told me.’

‘Is that why, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but is that why you still wear the ring?’

He grinned at her, ‘I wondered when you were finally bring it up. You thought I was a player, Madame Secretary?’

‘I decided I didn't care. Originally, though, I thought you were a widower, Admiral Adama,’ she said, laughing lightly.

‘Far from it; she’s still very much alive and kicking as you know. In fact, Lee told me earlier that she’s been keeping her new husband very much on his toes.’

She shared his laugh.

‘The marriage is recent?’

‘About six months ago. She seemed happy, or at least she did when I spoke to her around the time of her marriage. We often speak around the anniversary of Zak’s, death,’ he said gruffly, clearly forcing the phrase out, shifting his weight as he stared down at the ground between his feet where they were planted on the carpet under the couch.

‘Ahh, yes. I could see that. You both share the loss.’

‘I suppose.’ He smiled again, the humour and the sadness warring in his eyes. ‘We nearly killed each other while we were married, but we made it through raising the boys together, and it, helped, that we remembered that after we lost Zak.’

‘You are a family. You grieved as a family.’

‘I suppose so, yes. We knew, I knew, relatively early that the life of a military spouse wasn’t for her, but I pretended otherwise. I wanted it to be otherwise. When it was finally apparent that it was making her as miserable as it was making me, and when I knew the boys would be old enough to handle it, then, then I decided we could afford to let what we had go.’

 _You decided_ , she heard. _I wonder how well that went down_. Not well, she imagined.

‘But you kept the painting. Just as you still wear the ring.’

‘Our past informs who we are. Caroline, no matter how bad it got, she’s still part of me, just as the boys, just like Zak, will always be part of me. I wanted to make sure they had a reminder of that, during the divorce. They did not handle it well. And,' he grinned wolfishly, the act making him suddenly look over decade younger, 'I gave up a lot so that she’d think she won when I kept the painting.’

She grinned in response. ‘The ring, though? It never got in the way? You must have had, uh, options, and unlike the painting, it goes where you go.’

‘It was never really a concern. The military’s a small world, despite its size, and people gossip. Ellen always took care of letting everyone know the intricate details of my love life, anyway. In any case, most people just know me, or know of me. And, to be honest, it was never much of a concern. Until you.’ He paused, looking at her. ‘I’d assumed you knew, that someone had mentioned my history, otherwise I would have mentioned it. Maybe I should have had Ellen welcome you onboard instead of Kara.’

‘No, that’s alright,’ she told him, laughing with him a moment as she pictured it and enjoying his answering grin. ‘I really didn’t think much of it, I just assumed you were free to form a new connection, as I said, from the way you treated me from the beginning, from the way we are, together, and from the way your crew treated me. The way Lee and Kara treated me, come to think of it.’

 _As the new and long-awaited addition to your family_ , she thought. 

‘The details didn’t really matter all that much to you,’ he reaffirmed quietly, pleased.

She laughed ruefully. ‘You’re asking me that?’

‘You think I have a problem with your history with Adar? I don’t. I never did.’

He rose suddenly, depriving her of his warmth, apparently irritated that she would think he would. She could see him searching for the right words as he paced in the small space.

‘We’re all adults here, we all make our own choices and we all have to live with them. We all hurt the people we care about and we all have to live with that. The choices you made in the past don’t involve me other than the role they played in bringing you to me now. I don’t judge you for your past, Laura. I never would. Your reasons for your choices and your past are your own. It’s your future I’m interested in.’

Wordlessly, she moved to embrace him, wrapping herself around him, seeking to show him what she couldn’t put into words.

She’d gone into her ill-fated arrangement with Adar with her eyes open, never expected more from him than he’d been willing to give. Until recently, she’d never regretted that, not really, though even before that fateful day in his office she’d begun to have second thoughts in regards to continuing their ‘arrangement', though mainly because her feelings had changed, rather than because of outside pressures. Richard and his wife had a longstanding and well-known political and personal ‘understanding’, but ironically, that had only added fuel to the fire when it came to the gossip regarding Laura and their decades-long friendship. She'd thought she'd gotten used to it. The whispers that had long followed her, the conversations that ended abruptly as she entered a room. It wasn’t until just now, when Bill had simply looked at her without the judgment that followed her constantly that she realized that the unspoken judgments of the past decade had continued to weigh on her.

Until he’d removed that weight, in a single instant.

Standing back on her own two feet, she looked at the quiet man standing before her and offering her everything she’d ever dreamed of, offering himself without the slightest hesitation, and for the first time she understood fully what she’d been missing.

‘The future,’ she paused. ‘Yes. I’d like that. Whatever and however long that might entail.’

Watching him wince, she took his face in her hands.

‘I know you’re not as comfortable with that as I am, hells, I _know_ you’re uncomfortable with how often I bring it up, but I need to remind you, Bill, remind myself of the reality. It’s the way I cope, the way I keep from crawling into that bunk and never crawling out.’ She smirked. ‘Plus gallows humour. Believe it or not, its always been one of my favourite sources of breaking the tension, even before the cancer diagnosis.’ 

She waited another moment, watching him smile sadly at her and gathering her thoughts once again as she prepared to bring full circle the journey which had started with her stranded in Adar’s waiting room for months on end and which had culminated with her literally falling into his arms. Prepared to trust this man with everything she had and the reality of her deepest regrets.

‘Richard isn’t polling well. He found out shortly after he’d announced my resignation and terminal diagnosis,’ she told him, finding it difficult to look him directly in the eye. ‘A couple of months later, he came to see me. He asked for my help.’

‘He’s using you to win an election? Now?’ Bill asked quietly, as he seemed to do most things, but the air suddenly hung ominously, and she could almost physically feel his anger.

‘Well, he hasn’t won it yet,’ she reminded him weakly, hoping to break the tension.

‘Laura.’ He swore as he suddenly moved to pace, rubbing his face absently with his hands. ‘I may not be as easy with gallows humour as you put it, but I’ve seen your frakking records. And Fledgle was very blunt when she pulled me aside to express her concerns. There was no way you should have been anywhere near that campaign. The press, the crowds, the schedule… The day I finally met you, godsdamn it, you collapsed at my feet.’

She was about to protest, she hadn’t been that pathetic, and really, no one expected her to actually campaign, at least not the way she’d done before, when he suddenly continued, his anger bursting out of him as if he was physically unable to keep it in.

‘He wanted you to frakking campaign for him?!? The. Frak!’

She winced. If anything, the timbre of his voice apparently got lower when he became enraged. She glanced at his unnatural stillness and gathered some indication of the strength of his control, likely well-earned through years of practice.

 _Viper pilots_ , she thought wryly. _All fire._

‘Wow. No wonder you and Starbuck are so close. I would have given a lot,’ she smiled broadly, ‘to have met you at that age.’

‘Not a good idea,’ he said dismissively, still pacing. ‘I was still trying to make the marriage work and the boys were still too young. Stop avoiding the subject, Roslin. What exactly did Adar expect you to do, and why in the seven hells did you even consider it!’

‘Give me some credit, Adama, I didn’t agree to it. Or not fully. We did some photo ops, and I might have appeared a few,’ _try twelve_ ‘rallies. Just to show he had my support.’

‘To remind them he good people on his side,’ he grumbled under his breath.

‘Yes. And to remind people that he’d assembled a strong team, and that he’d accomplished a lot in his term, despite some very difficult circumstances.’

She wasn’t sure why she was still defending her (thankfully former), boss, but obviously old habits die hard.

‘Laura - that man was hopeless at anything other than fundraising. Hells, the entire system knew the man couldn’t find his ass with both hands.’

‘Bill!’ She protested, laughing, delighted despite herself as he paced around his Quarters muttering and gesturing at her. 

‘I mean, his poll numbers were so low in the first place because his biggest accomplishment was avoiding accidentally restarting the war with the Cylons, wherever in the hells they might be – ’

She smiled. She’d heard that joke.

‘ – and other than finally dealing with the teacher’s strike… Wait, what the frak? Laura!’

‘What?’ She asked innocently, trying to look as though sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth.

‘Having you on stage with him. His ‘accomplishments.’ Damn it, Laura, the only thing his administration ever accomplished was getting the teachers back to work, and that was all you!’

‘Well, technically,’ she reminded him, ‘the Cabinet works at the direction of the President. So their accomplishments are his accomplishments.’

‘Really?’ He asked sarcastically, ‘Does that still hold water when he’d fired you for said accomplishments?’

She smiled her politicians smile, the one she’d perfected her first year on the job.

‘Technically, I resigned for health reasons. And no one said Presidents have to be consistent.’

Amused, she watched as he spent the next few minutes silently, and not so silently, cursing. This was fun. She doubted anyone else, (well maybe Tigh) got to see him like, the façade of the calm Admiral dropping away to reveal the remarkable personality beneath. She intended to enjoy this side of him, and to enjoy every minute she had the privilege of spending in his company. The fact that he looked almost good enough to eat was an added bonus.

_Seriously what did they feed pilots in addition to oatmeal? Those shoulders are remarkable._

_I wonder if he boxes._

Sooner she would have liked, he reined himself in, and she reluctantly drew herself out of her prurient fantasies regarding his upper arms.

‘Why in the name of Kobol did you agree to that? You’re stronger than that. I know it must have been hard this last year, but Laura, you’re stronger than that. Everyone knows that.’

She glowed but ducked her head ruefully.

‘I know,’ she told him, laughing a little, at the situation and herself. ‘What can I tell you? At the time it seemed to make sense. If it makes you feel any better, Billy found every opportunity to remind me how ‘ill-advised he found the arrangement’.’

‘Smart boy,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘Yes.’ She smiled fondly, ‘he's a very smart boy. I have very high hopes for him.’

‘Still,’ Adama continued doggedly. ‘ Adar took advantage of the situation, and you didn’t fight it. Not the way you could have.’

‘I know. I’ve always been proud of the fact that I’ve made my own choices, accepted the consequences. Even if they’re not always what I would have hoped. I should have been firmer with Richard regarding, well, everything. In fact, it wasn’t until I found myself in a hospital room, again, alone with a man I only barely knew, that I realized how far I’d let it go.’

He grimaced.

‘You scared the crap out of me. And Billy.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go so far. Which is why I made sure to truly express myself, on a number of issues, during my last conversation with Richard.’

This time he openly grinned.

‘I know, I was there. You should have seen his face as he left.’

She laughed carefully, but she couldn’t completely hold back the sadness at the end of what had been one of her deepest friendships, one that lasted decades, the value of which it was hard to quantify.

‘I like to think there is actually an element of concern there. If we aren’t what we once were, at least for what we had been. Before the election, before we convinced ourselves that we weren’t hurting anyone with our ‘arrangement’ … there was a time when I truly believe we cared for one another.’

‘Which is why you agreed when he pulled that stunt with Baltar.’

She could feel his eyes on her, but kept her own down, afraid to meet them.

‘Don’t be too nice to me, Adama. If I start crying, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop.’

‘I’ll take that under advisement,’ he told her with a soft chuckle.

‘Thanks.’

She sipped water as she contemplated her situation.

‘Anyway, I doubt Baltar’s tests will do much good, but who knows? Maybe working with him is why I’ve gotten this far. And maybe in the future they might help someone else. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. That'll be my reward for the time I spent with the strangest little man in the history of the colonies. Twice a week, Wednesday and Friday mornings.’

‘Followed by Richard Adar every Friday afternoon.’

‘Yeah. I’d meet with Baltar, he’d have lunch with Richard, and then I’d wait in his office until he’d decided I remembered my place and he could see me,’ and she heard the bitterness in her own voice and tried to tamp it down.

 _Your decision, Laura,_ she reminded herself.

He signed, and she reminded herself that she wasn’t looking for his pity.

‘Well,’ she continued thankfully, ‘at least that’s done.’

She patted his sleeve, in relief for having made it through the story, and having made it this far. 

Suddenly he moved, and though she was sad to see the end of their comfortable silence, and though she missed the warmth his bulk provided, she enjoyed the sensation as he cupped her face with the palm of his hand, roughened by the years and the work it had seen. He smiled at her, and as she smiled back, she sensed the rest of her days would be filled with all the warmth she could ever need.

_It is done, Laura. We can move on. You can let someone else help you with the weight for a little while. Let it be me._

‘You made the choices you need to get through. You accepted them, you lived with the consequences. Now forgive yourself and move on.’

_Let people help you moving forward._

Caught, she stared back and then smiled. Moving slowly, he dropped a soft kiss on mouth. She closed her eyes in reaction and leaned in, accepting him, and accepting his help. She felt his answering smile and relaxed into the kiss, suddenly exhausted.

She wondered if he could read her mind as she heard him grumble softly.

‘Bed, Roslin.’

She felt, and heard, his smile once more. She smiled vaguely at him as he helped her up and shepherded her into the small sleeping section of the quarters. She heard the deep rumble of his voice as he instructed the Marines guarding the hatch and felt the warmth of his care from where she was standing. After changing quickly and brushing her teeth, she burrowed into his cozy bed, humming softly to herself. As she inhaled his delightful scent that lingered under the smell of the _Valkryie's_ laundry detergent, she was suddenly grateful she hadn't put that much effort into her fight to move gracefully into guest quarters she was sure were available. It was so much more comfortable here, though it was colder than she'd like, now that she'd lost the access to his body heat that she'd enjoyed all evening. 

Well. There was always tomorrow night. Surely between the two of them they could come up with an excuse for spending an evening by themselves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Well, now that that's out of the way... Apologies for the delay, that took a lot more work than I'd thought, and that was after moving a large chunk of it. Don't get me wrong, they have to talk about of these things, but perhaps not all of the work has to be done at once. 
> 
> *Note to self, avoid writing a 11k long conversation in the middle of one's fic. Thanks for sticking with me ...


	20. Obfuscations

She woke suddenly and sharply hours later, out of gentle dream she couldn't remember the moment she blinked. It took her a moment to place her surroundings, fighting her way out of the blankets which had wrapped around her somehow, but she was nonetheless instantly aware she was no longer alone. Sensing somehow that it wasn’t Bill, she managed to fight her way out of the rack and grabbed the brown robe he’d left at the end of the bed, wondering who would have the gall to wander into the Admiral Quarter’s unannounced. More importantly, she wondered how they would have managed to get past the armed guards posted outside.

“Hello?”

She made her way carefully through the short distance that separated the sleeping and living areas of the quarters, though surprisingly she felt lighter on her feet than she had for a long time. It seemed the filtered air of the _Valkyrie_ was still working its magic. Still, she was slower than she would have like, as she made her way out into the more open living area, to be surprised by a tall blonde, dressed formally in heels and a suited business suit, all in sharp lines and blood red, and almost eerie in her stillness, standing in the middle of the room. The woman's attention was seemingly entirely focused on the painting hanging over the couch, the same one Laura had spent so much time admiring last night. Apparently entirely at her ease and holding a glass filled with ambrosia, obviously pilfered from the Admiral’s personal stash, in hand, though it was still early, she appeared seemingly lost in the moment of appreciation for the Mount Clair.

Not sure what to expect, sensing - not quite a threat but something, a sense of unease as this woman stood in the innermost sanctum of a heavily guarded military installation - Laura was surprised as the blonde turned at her approach. She was sure she hadn’t been that loud.

“Madame Secretary.”

The woman was even more striking full on, imposing and mysterious, though her perfect features, long, lean body, which would reach over six feet even without the heels, and an unnatural blondness gave her a surreal, almost alien, air. She was also the spiting image of the woman whom Laura had seen so often in Gaius Baltar's company, though the sense of recognition in her eyes was miles from that which so often greeted Laura upon her entrance to Baltar’s suite of offices every week.

It couldn’t be the same woman, surely? It couldn’t be. A twin? Then again, Baltar was scheduled to join them to discuss the test results, could he have brought this woman with him? Though as to why she was here, in Adama's Quarters, and had obviously been so for some time while Laura lay sleeping nearby... 

Unsure as to how to approach this woman whose very presence caused her senses to go on high alert, Laura felt a shiver moving through her.

“Can I help you?”

It was awkward, but she had to say something, and this woman seemed wantonly determined to ignore the fact that she was trespassing. Laura wished she could frame the words in a more commanding tone, more passive-aggressive, more _aggressive_ , even, but try as she might, this woman couldn’t help but intimidate her, leaving her angry and upset at her own weakness. Sure enough, her smirk only enhanced the warning bells currently reverberating in Laura’s brain, who wished for a fleeting moment she’d a moment to wipe the fog of sleep from her brain and the sleep out of the corner of her eye. Instinctively, she knew she need all her wits about her for this confrontation.

“It’s _Laura_ _Roslin_ , isn't that right? Madame Secretary?”

As she approached, Laura remembered more fully why this woman had always made her uneasy, had the momentary flashback of her initial meeting with Baltar, her initial impression that the blonde at his side was too stunning to be real. She’d had no idea at the time how uncomfortable the younger woman would make her, each meeting seemingly enhancing her unconscious desire to avoid being vulnerable around his associate. What was it about this woman which made every inch of her skin tingle in warning?

“That’s right,” Laura confirmed uneasily, struggling to focus on the fact that she had to stand her ground regardless of the sense of peril she felt looking up at the taller woman. She belonged here, she reminded herself, here in these rooms. This woman did not.

“You probably don’t remember me, you were often so… unwell when we met. I’m an… associate of Dr. Baltar’s. I saw you often when you came for treatments with him in Caprica City.”

“I remember... but you seem different.”

Different as in an entirely different person. The blonde ignored her insinuation though, speaking as if Laura had merely nodded.

“He sent me ahead to over some basic tests before we head to Sickbay. He’s there now, meeting with Dr. Cottle.”

“I see. I’ll just... get dressed then.”

And who would have thought she’d come to see Dr. Cottle as the lesser of two evils, Laura thought wryly as she retreated to the private washroom located off of Adama’s quarters. Dressing as quickly as possible, almost desperate to put on the limited armour provided both by the warm layers she climbed into every day, she moved as quickly as she dared, given the fact that she still felt far from awake. It helped, dressing warming, to counteract the shivers she been plagued with this last year (boots, casual pants, undershirt, sweater, light jacket) and as she reminded herself she'd soon be 'blessed' by the company of people she (mostly) trusted, Laura found herself comforted by the familiarity of her inner monologue despite the situation she found herself in. It appeared her sense of humour was still alive and kicking.

Ignoring the arm the tall blonde offered her, seemingly in support, Laura headed for the hatch, eager to get her escort out the door and the two of them safely in the company of others.

“What should I call you?” Laura asked, suddenly struck by the realization that, all those times in Baltar’s office, she’d never heard this woman’s name. She wasn’t sure, in fact, that she’d actually ever heard Baltar speak directly to the woman or refer to any of his staff in any other terms than ‘associate.’

The woman only smiled, now, continuing to match Laura’s slow pace as they exited the Admiral’s Quarters, and Laura had never been so glad to see the Colonial officers who soon surrounded them. She remained concerned with the way they reacted at her escort, though, as they either ignored her presence entirely or gazed upon her as if she was the goddess of beauty manifested in life. She was a beautiful woman, this blonde, but the way some of them looked at her... It was disorienting, to say the least.

“Relax, Laura,” she suddenly heard as the woman leaned down from her considerable height to whisper in her ear. “It’s to everyone’s advantage that this comes to fruition.”

“What comes to fruition?”

Her escort had fallen a pace behind, however, seemingly deliberately, as she clearly had no intention of answering her query. Soon it seemed she seemed oblivious to any attempt by Laura to engage in conversation at all, so they started quietly on the long walk to see Cottle and that frakwit Baltar. Idly, Laura wondered how those two were getting on. Not well, if she was a judge of anything. She was almost sad she was missing that particular confrontation.

Lost in thought, at first she dismissed the disorientated feeling she continued to experience as they walked. She’d only been on the _Valkyrie_ a short time, and she knew the ship was massive, the size of Caprica City in its entity. She’d only been on a fraction of its decks. Eventually, though, the length of the journey to Cottle's domain began to worry her. She may not be entirely comfortable with the entirety of the _Valkyrie_ and may have always had a guide while travelling its corridors, but she had been to Sickbay more times than she would have liked. And if this _was_ the way to Sickbay, they were most definitely taking the _long_ way round.

Mildly concerned (it was Bill’s ship after all, she couldn’t get too lost as long as she was on it, surrounded by his crew, surely), she looked over at her erstwhile escort.

“Where are we going?”

“Why Laura, don’t you feel like a stroll?”

“If I had any idea where we were headed, maybe – ”

Shocked, she stared suddenly at the walls, where the oddly comforting battleship grey had been replaced with ornate creamy wallpaper, ornamented with crown moulding and gold gilt accents. Looking up, she saw the chandeliers of the famous Caprican City Opera House hanging twelve feet above them, shining in all it's glory, every light blazing. The decks of the ship had been transmuted into a richly textured burgundy carpet and she could almost hear the sound of the orchestra practising. It felt as real as it had the last time Laura had been to an opera, eight months ago, the only difference being the lack of an audience which normally filled its glamorous halls during performance night and who were usually buzzing with the excitement and energy that preceded the witnessing of a live performance from artists at the height of their craft.

Even more shocking was her attire and that of her companion. Instead of the comfortable, warm and sturdy clothing Laura had been wearing, she was instead wearing the same outfit she'd worn on that last visit to the Opera House, a formal dress in the shade of slate grey with a slight sheen that had fit her perfectly. (It had been her favourite; she'd never been able to let it go even if it had been a gift from Adar during the early stages of their relationship.) She didn't need a mirror to know she was made-up the way she'd been that night eight months ago, any more than she needed one to know that her hair was styled the way she preferred for formal events, down but perfectly straight, allowing the fire in its rich auburn to shine. She didn't need to look down to know it was her favourite pair of black stiletto sandals she was walking (only a little unsteadily) in. The mysterious woman at her side was dressed as formally, again in blood red, though her dress was cut to more overtly enhance it's wearer's sensuality, its geometric pattern and strategic cut-outs emphasizing her unearthly beauty, her hair and make-up done as formally as Laura's. 

“They designed the Opera House after the one on Kobol, you know,” her guide told her without breaking stride, seemingly content now to match her steps to Laura's much shorter ones. “Or, at least, based on what they could glean of what the Opera House must have been like. It is a little hard to design something based on the descriptions provided by your Scriptures, they are so limited. Luckily, we had one of ours on the design team for the one on Caprica City, and he was able to tweak a few things during the building process based on the data he’d gathered from the data stream.”

“We’re not on Caprica,” Laura pointed out absently, trying to hold it together.

It felt so real. Almost as if she could reach out and touch the details etched in the wall.

“Aren’t we? We’re anywhere we need to be, Laura. Anywhere our minds can take us.”

“It’s the remnants of the Chamalla. It has to be.”

 _It had felt like this, sometimes,_ she reminded herself. _That had to be it. Chamalla._ Sometimes this was what she'd felt like, when she'd been taking it. Like she was walking in a living dream.

_That had to be it._

Even if she hadn’t taken Chamalla for weeks.

“It can linger in your system,” she reassured herself softly as they walked through the halls of _Valkyrie_ / _Not Valkyrie_ , aware she was speaking out loud, but unsure whether her companion would agree or argue with her, if she was even paying attention to the way Laura was quietly panicking.

“It can,” the blonde stated quietly, though with an undertone of amusement, as if she was smiling to herself, and Laura was reminded the flash of Bill sitting by her hospital bed. He had that trick too, that art of disagreeing with you even as his words echoed your own.

“You’re saying it’s not the Chamalla.”

“I've told you; your mind can be anywhere you need it to be, Laura. If you need this to be the Chamalla, it can be.”

“But it’s not.”

“No.”

The tall blonde smiled again, and Laura had that feeling once again, the overwhelming sense that she was laughing at her, as if Laura had said something particularly charming or amusing, the way a parent smiled at a child's nonsense or a young pet's stumbles. Like she was playing with her, as they walked slowly alongside each other. Together, yet apart. 

Disoriented once again, Laura tripped and the world spun around her. She reached desperately for a walls as the lights flickered and she found herself once more surrounded by the comfortably slanted grey walls of a Colonial Battlestar. She didn't need to look down to see she was once again wearing the casual clothes she'd packed for the journey. She’d never been so glad to see the faded colour of the _Valkyrie_ 's walls, filled with servicemen and women hurrying along as they walked among them and managed to avoid Laura and her companion almost without noticing, almost as if they were a human sea parting in from of them. She wondered if she and the blonde had physically shared in the moment she’d just experienced, or if, indeed, she had simply imagined it. It had been so hard in that moment, to remember what was real, another reason to suspect that it was merely the lingering effects of the Chamalla she'd been on last year. Except... It had also seemed so very real. The cloth under her fingertips. The sensation of make-up on her face, of mascara on her lashes, the way she had wobbled a bit in the heels she'd long since stopped wearing. The way her long chandelier earrings had brushed against the skin of her neck as she moved. The way she had felt that she could reach out and touch the texture of the Opera House's patterned wall paper, the way she could almost feel the buzz of the energy emanating from the performers preparing to enter the stage, from the musicians readying themselves in the orchestra pit. 

Looking apprehensively once more at the tall blonde beside her, Laura wondered again where this woman had come from.

“Baltar has no idea who you are, does he?”

_Was that a smirk?_

“Dr. Baltar and I share many things, and he is everything I could wish for in a … man.”

Laura snorted.

“Well, that’s hardly a ringing endorsement.”

She suddenly had a flash of insight and went with it before the other woman could change the subject.

“What does _he_ call you?”

He had to call her _something_.

Definitely a smirk this time, although, again, she failed to answer, simply continuing to walk calmly and quietly alongside her. Laura had assumed the woman had decided not to answer her question, retreating into an enigmatic silence, when she suddenly responded, her quiet voice as always at odds with the impact of her presence.

“Baltar knows better than to ask. There are some who might refer to me as Six.”

Well, at least that was something.

“Okay. Well then, Six, is there a point to this excursion or am I merely out on a walk with you for my health?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you have a plan here, actually. I don’t know what it is exactly, your reason is for being here, but I imagine you have one.”

_I imagine you have a reason for everything you do._

“Really?”

The hint of a grin of Six’s face made Laura wary, though to be fair, she’d been on edge since she’d sensed the other woman’s presence in Adama’s quarters before she'd even awoken.

“Really. I assume you’re here because you want something from me.”

“Really?” That smile again. “And what would that be?”

“I assume you will tell me.”

Eventually.

“When you're ready, that is. I should warn you - you’d better hurry up and get on with it, though. I’m really quite ill.”

“You are?”

“Mmm. Not going to be around much longer.”

“Is that so?”

Laura watched as another wry smile flit across Six’s face (did that woman do anything other than smile enigmatically?) as they walked the short distance remaining to Cottle’s domain. She wasn’t sure what she should expect next, given how little Six was telling her, and the ways in which the other woman was clearly able to manipulate the world around them. She was still in the dark about this woman's agenda, and she wasn’t even sure if she could trust her own senses.

She'd never imagined how happy she'd be to see the cramped hospital beds of the _Valkyrie_ as the hatch opened before them. 

_Thank frak._

Throwing up thanks to whatever patron gods protected grumpy doctors, she swore quietly to herself that she'd resist the urge to whinge at Cottle's needling as long as he acted as a suitable buffer between her and Baltar and his mysterious Six. She'd take the obnoxious smell of antiseptic and the rough feel of the material that made up the cheap threadbare blue hospital gown they were sure to give her any day over this. Hells, she'd take Cottle snapping at her and poking her with needles over the possibility of walking again with this woman into whatever living dream they'd been caught up in. To think she'd only been dreading seeing Baltar again...

_Where is Bill? And can I get to his side any faster...._


	21. Gaius Baltar, Resident Genius of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen and non-binary folks, I had to SCROLL to get to this chapter to edit it. Forgive me if I pat myself on the back a little in joy. Who'd have known I'd get that far? Yay!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Ah, there’s the very woman I’ve been missing.”

As the plummy Caprican accent projected itself into the aisle outside of Sickbay even as she moved through the hatch, Laura wasn’t sure she should be hoping that Gauis Baltar was in fact there or not. Maybe it would be better if he truly was a product of her imagination. Sadly, though, she’d learnt over the previous months that the Colonies’ favourite genius was very much meant to be a part of her life. She hadn't been lying to Bill when she'd told him that if it hadn't been for Adar she would never have subjected herself to this man's presence, even if, as his supporters claimed, he was a gift to humanity and even if he was widely considered to be _the_ preeminent scientist of his generation. She’d barely been able to tolerate his presence though the endless hours they’d spent together in the close quarters of his lab- he made her skin crawl and she had to resist the urge to shower immediately after leaving his office every _frakking_ time - though luckily, he only really saw her in terms of what her cells were telling him and largely ignored her otherwise.

_Your cells really are remarkable, Laura, simply beautiful, he'd told her during their first visit and if she hadn't been sure that she'd given up the chamalla before starting these treatments with him, she would have thought she was hallucinating, would have thought she was still high off the powerful drug._

He wasn’t a small man, Gauis Baltar, but neither was he particularly large, though he took up entirely too much of the room for her comfort. He was handsome enough, she supposed, with his flowing dark brown locks, posh accent and symmetrical face, at least physically, which partially explained why he was almost always followed by an adoring flock, but honestly, she did not see the appeal. To a significant degree, though, his following was largely the result of his reputation as one of the brightest minds in the Twelve Colonies (and no, she wasn't sure if that was better or worse). Baltar's research in robotics, programming, cryogenics and cellular biology had brought him fame, fortune and notoriety, and he was certainly brilliant, though, as an outspoken advocate of investment and research in artificial intelligence, he was regarded with some suspicion in certain circles. Even though there had been some change in the persistent bias against research in the area of A.I. and its proponents, the decades-old association of research in those topics with the Cylon War meant research in the area was still seen as vaguely taboo, something to be avoided and feared.

Laura wasn’t sure how she felt about it, the willingness of a growing number of researchers to resume research in the same area that had spawned the Cylons, unsure about the prospect in general of a return to a time when autonomous machines roamed the streets. She’d been so young during the war, barely approaching adulthood, and she’d barely remembered the time before it. She had no memory of the world her parents had described for her, when intelligent robots performed any manner of menial, and not-so-menial, tasks. Her mother had been raised in part by a Cylon nursemaid, during that brief period her parents had referred to as the Last Automated Age. It fuelled her imagination at times, these tales of a world she had never known, of peace and prosperity and exploration, though she knew she was no doubt romanticizing it in her brain. Despite Baltar’s proclamations, though, she knew nothing was going to bring that world back, and she doubted anyone seriously wanted to. The collective Colonial memory was too tainted by the Cylon conflict, by blood and bitterness and fear. Laura herself, much as the period intrigued her, was doubtful as to they should embrace research into the area. She admitted to herself it made it uncomfortable, the thought, for example, the idea of leaving a child unsupervised in the care of a machine, no matter how advanced. Especially an _advanced_ machine.

She lost herself in thought as Baltar bustled around, arranging things the way he liked them, moving them around just-so, while Cottle tried to hold his temper in check and Six stood as unobtrusively as possible off to the side. (She still wasn't entirely sure anyone other than she herself could see the tall, striking woman. To be honest she was afraid to ask; afraid of whether they couldn't. Afraid of whether they _could_.) She was relieved to some degree that Bill wasn’t there, surprisingly enough. She highly doubted that he and Baltar were destined to become lifelong friends, and this small space was filled with enough awkwardness and tension as it was without adding to it. As with Baltar, her Admiral wasn’t a large man, but he still took up a lot of space. Or, at least, maybe he just took up a lot of space for _her_.

“Laura.”

“Dr. Baltar.”

He almost purred as he moved over to greet her again once the space was organized to his specifications, his progress across the room, to all intents and purposes resembling nothing so much as a cat slinking over for bacon.

“How are we feeling?” he asked as he ushered her into a chair closer to his machines, and although she understood that to anyone watching it might seem solicitous, she knew what she was to him. What she’d always been.

A lab rat. A particularly interesting one, yet all the same - a little white lab rat, with piercing red eyes.

“Good,” she told him now, answering his question and still surprised she was telling him the truth.

_I feel fantastic, actually, all things considering…_

“Yes, well, the test result have come back. Not quite what we expected, not at all what we expected, was it Laura? Of course, we had hopes, but this - yes, not quite what we expected at all - ”

Familiar with his innate love of listening to himself speak, Laura let her body relax into the hard, white, pre-formed plastic chair and let her mind, ever so slightly, drift as he nattered on regarding blood tests and t-cell counts and various chemical reactions. What all of this had to do with her, she had absolutely no idea, but then, she’d always wondered whether he did either. It always seemed as though the very act of speaking allowed him to organize and process his thoughts, a trend she begrudgingly respected, though in her less generous moments she wondered if it wouldn't be better all round if he was left entirely alone to organize his thoughts with his favourite audience; himself.

“Remarkable, just remarkable. As if the healthy cells have just started eating the cancerous ones. The serum, it seems to have finally taken effect, it’s effects are remarkable…”

“Serum?” Laura asked sharply, snapping back into focus sharply, even as she felt Dr. Cottle’s eyes boring into her. Though he hadn’t moved, she could almost see his fingers twitch as he seemed to reach subconsciously for a cigarette.

“Dr. Roslin…”

“I never agreed to a serum.”

She’d blocked out much of what had transpired during those tedious mornings spent with Baltar and his fawning associates, blocked out or zoned out during the time spent there in his sprawling, shiny offices on the University of Caprica's campus. It had been so clear to her how little her input mattered, and exhausted as she was, she’d needed all her strength to deal with the afternoons spent in Adar’s office. So maybe she hadn't been paying as much attention as she should have been to exactly what Baltar was doing and exactly what he was giving her.

Still.

She’d never agreed to any serum, experimental or not.

“Blood tests. You were doing…” she paused to concentrate, pull herself together. “I agreed to blood tests. That was all.”

“Oh, we did so much more than mere blood tests. You’d be amazed Dr. Cottle, what we were able to accomplish. The treatments, Laura, remarkable success…”

“Treatments…yes. But I thought, you made it seem like vitamins and pain medications not… a serum?”

“Gene therapy, Laura.”

Baltar rose to pace throughout the room, his excitement palpable and slightly manic. She’d seen him like this before, though never to this extent, and she marvelled as he seemed to dance with manic energy, though for her more and more it was as if she was watching him prance through the room from a long tunnel very, very far away.

 _Shock, Laura, shock_ , the remains of her rational brain tried to tell her. _You're in shock, right now. That's why everything is fuzzy. That's why it's hard to concentrate._

_Dear lords, what had he done?_

“The possibilities, Laura…”

“I thought… palliative, you said. Research. You were trying to learn about my cancer, to learn more about how it spreads. For future treatments.”

Research. On how the cancer had moved so fast, so far, into her system. Had taken over so much of her healthy cells, so much of her body, so quickly. It was so rare, they’d told her at her initial meeting with the oncologist, so rare, not only the type of cancer but its virulence, and the tenacity and the speed with it which it had attached all her major organs.

_If only we’d been able to catch it sooner…_

The doctor’s voice had echoed in the large cold white room, ripe with the edge of bitter sympathy and regret. It had been one of the few things she’d actually heard that day, the pity in that lone doctor’s voice. She’d walked away moments later, desperate to get outside into fresh air and sunshine, in shock, as she was now, apparently, at the turn of events and desperate to escape the room and the voice that had ended the life and the world she'd always known.

“That was the hope, Laura, that was the plan. But these results. Surely you’ve noticed. A difference? In how you’re feeling? Any change at all?”

_Change? In her state of health? In how she’d been feeling?_

She’d thought – it must have been…

“It’s true,” she said faintly, “I’ve been feeling so much better since – ”

Since she’d arrived on the _Valkyrie_ , but really, even earlier than that… Since she’d collapsed, that day at Adar’s office. Since the day she’d met Bill.

“– lately. I’ve been feeling so much better, lately. I thought. We thought, it was just a temporary reaction – ”

A temporary reprieve.

“ – the excitement, the adrenaline - with all that’s going on, all the excitement, I just thought, and Dr. Cottle agreed with me,” she said, glancing at him as he caught her eyes and seemed to twitch with the effort of restraining himself from taking over the room from Baltar, “ it was more adrenaline than anything else.”

Although, really, she’d been feeling so much better. Better than a woman in her state, with cancer at such an advanced stage, had any right to feel.

“You know,” she said softly, trailing off, talking almost to herself at this point, “a last hurrah sort of thing.”

_Laura Roslin lives for a day._

How wrong she’d been.

“Oh no, no, no,” Baltar chuckled, looking inordinately pleased with himself. He was almost dancing about the room with glee now. “These test results, Dr. Cottle will surely agree with me, they’re remarkable. Unbelievable really. I can’t, not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined.” He chortled. “You’re going to be famous, Laura. Well, I mean, even more famous than you are already. Your legacy, our legacy, will live on for centuries. As I said, the possibilities, they're boundless.”

“The possibilities for whom, Doctor?”

Adama’s deep voice penetrated the dark room suddenly, as all conversation suddenly stopped. It was weird, she hadn’t heard him come in, and she was usually so attuned to his presence.

“For everyone. We’re going to have to do a lot more follow-up, and the analysis will take months, but it’s clear. I’ve done it. History. The cure. We’ve got it.”

She saw as Bill’s lips grimace and she had to fight the urge to cry. Follow-up tests, analysis, Baltar.

_Wait, what was Baltar babbling on about? What cure? Cure for what? What in the name of the Twelve Colonies is his talking about?_

“Doctor.” Bill’s gravely voice suddenly interrupted. “What exactly does that mean? For Secretary Roslin. What cure? Cure for what? For her?”

In shock, Laura could only be happy she hadn’t been the one who’d had to ask.

“Mean? What does it mean? Why, only that the most persistent and tenacious disease we’ve ever faced is about to be eradicated thanks to the serum I've developed for Laura. I can’t express wheat it means to me to be able to say that I’ve been chosen to be able to deliver this gift to mankind. Truly, it is a blessing and I look forward to exploring the possibilities which will arise from it as I move forward with the analysis. Laura, I can’t wait to get you back in my lab. There’s so much I’ll need to do to confirm these findings before we go public and I have to ask all of you to contain your excitement, especially you Laura, until I’ve ready to make the announcement.

Wait, who are you?”

“This is Rear Admiral William Adama, the Commander of the _Valkryie_ and a close _personal_ friend of Laura. Our host for the time being,” Six purred as she moved to place herself Bill and Adar. Laura had almost forgotten she was there, she’d been so quiet, but it was apparently she was determined to save Baltar from himself.

_Well, at least someone had to._

Apparently, she was also real, as those other than Laura could see her, hear her, interact with her.

Though Laura wouldn’t have thought it possible, she could have sworn Bill barely gave the striking blonde a second glance even as she all but draped herself over him, flirting with her eyes as with the length of her body.

 _I guess he really does prefer sickly redheads_ , Laura thought wryly as he disengaged himself from Six and moved to her side seemingly without thought.

 _Also, it turns out I wasn't hallucinating. Six is real. What a development,_ a little voice in the back of her brain said wryly. _It turns out she's real. If I weren't so distracted by Baltar telling me he'd cured cancer, I might be more fascinated._

_Wait - Baltar had cured cancer? Like, my cancer? That's not possible. What does that even mean? What the frak?_

_Wait, am I not that sick anymore? She didn't feel that different, though there was_ a _difference - Could Baltar actually be right?_

_Was she cured?_

_Wait, was she cured? She_ didn't _have cancer?_

“That’s impossible,” she blurted out without thinking. “I’m dying.”

Truth be told, she should be dead already, should have been for months now, whispered that little voice again, should be dead and buried, according to the diagnosis she’d originally received in that shiny, echoing office almost a year ago now.

“No, Laura, you’re not,” Cottle suddenly interjected, his voice echoing through the room for the first time since she'd arrived, in itself a surprise, and she fought the urge to cry at his unanticipated sympathy as he continued. “Although if the good doctor doesn’t get to the point soon we might _all_ die from old age.”

“Just right, just right. You must rest, Laura, rest. Take it all in. I’m sure this has all been quite a shock for you and we have to be prepared and well-rested for the work ahead. Go on now, we’ll call you later, just as soon and Dr. Cottle and myself – and my team,” he continued, throwing furtive glances at Six, “have processed these results. So much to do, so much to do,” he hummed quietly to himself as he returned to the X-rays spread out in front of him, “so much, much to do. What a gift, what a gift we're going to give them, Laura. It will be our legacy, yours and mine. Our names intertwined through the history of the Colonies.”

In disbelief, Laura watched as he danced around the room, apparently lost in his own little world and humming happily to himself. She saw Cottle and Bill watch in shock that almost equalled her own, while Six watched Baltar raptly, her eyes never leaving his face. It was eerie, really, the look on her face one of almost unholy pride and glee, thought Laura wondered if the others saw it, as she did, the tinge of condescension lurking beneath. Almost as one would watch a prized pet performing a difficult task. It gave her the creeps, and she wondered that Baltar didn’t see the same gleam in Six’s eye, though maybe he did and simply choose to ignore it. Then again, watching _his_ face as he danced over to her and preened proudly in front of her, she doubted it. If anything, he seemed _proud_ to bask in her approval, almost as if, again, he was her prized pet. Or maybe prized pupil? 

In any case, she found that watching the two interact, however distracting, wasn’t enough to keep her from the realization for long – the impact of the bombshell her erstwhile genius had so carelessly delivered finally sinking in.

_I’m going to live._

Who’d have thought it possible?

_I’m going to live._

And as she struggled to process, one thought and one thought only pulsed in her brain like an alarm blaring in the night.

_What the frak do I do now?_

An overwhelming sense of panic gripped her, and she found it almost impossible to move, although her mind was screaming at her even as her legs refused to move to support her as she struggled to get to her feet:

_GET. OUT. NOW!_

All the walls closed in around her and she struggled to breathe once more. She could only be grateful as Bill supported her, lifting her to her feet and hustling her out the door.

“Genius my ass,” she heard Cottle mutter as he too hightailed it out the hatch, and she fought the overwhelming urge to giggle uncontrollably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Although some of you may have guessed already. 
> 
> Yay?
> 
> And should we be wary of Cylons (and their friends) bearing gifts?


	22. Reeling

Everything seemed overly loud, overly bright as she struggled to get her balance, and though Bill held her upright as she staggered onward, her feet unsteady on the smooth decks, making her feel as though the gravity was not quite fully turned on.

_Get out. Get out. Get out._

_What the frak did she do now?_

She couldn't focus, couldn't breathe and there was too much going on and the more she told herself _to get it together_ , more she tried to tell herself to stop spiralling, the more she could feel it as she spiralled, her body and mind and thoughts out of control. 

_What was happening?_

“Breathe, Laura. Just breathe,” Bill spoke calmly and quietly in her ear as he slowly walked her through the halls, seemingly without purpose or destination.

She clung to his presence as much as she did his arm, though by now she was aware that he had to be holding her up, taking most of her weight as his arm wrapped around her waist. She once more did as he asked, concentrated on her breathing - _in_ , two, three-four, _out_ , two, three, four - feeling the sense of déjà vu from that moment in Adar's office. Determined, she tried to focus on the need to draw air into and out of her lungs, concentrating on her breaths, and eventually she felt calm enough to look around her as recognized her surroundings even as the tingling in her hands faded and she was able to close them once again. She hadn't had a panic attack in months, she'd forgotten how exhausted she always felt afterwards.

“Observation,” she said softly, glad at least that she’d at least regained the ability to control the panic that flowed through her body in what a distant section of her brain recognized her fight or flight instinct. She still didn't quite feel like she was getting enough oxygen through her lungs though the heavy pounding of her heart was slightly less than it had been a moment before and the hazy dots floating in front of her eyes had faded enough to the edges that she was able to see clearly once again.

“Lee mentioned how fond you were of this place,” he said softly, more to himself than to her, she thought, just talking for the sake of her having a voice to anchor herself to, and she smiled, happy that her death would at least accomplish this, that coming together of these two remarkable men. They'd both had come to mean so much to her, she was glad her legacy would be this; the re-forging of the ancient and binding tie between father and son.

_Wait._

_What?_

_I’m not dying?_

_Right?_

The vertigo hit her again, like a physical blow, and she reached desperately for the back of one of the seats in the first row of the auditorium, sitting abruptly and far from gracefully into a seat in the row closest to the massive observation windows. She’d accepted it, dying (Bill would say she had been almost too eager to embrace it), for so long. It felt strange to give up that sense of acceptance, of peace almost. It meant she’d have to find a new sense of purpose, one which had that strength of clarity. It was a possibility she found unlikely. She knew she should feel an overwhelming sense of relief, but the only thing flowing through her veins at the moment was panic and she felt as though she'd never stop drowning in the feeling.

_I'm really not dying?_

It seemed hard to believe. The sense of purpose she'd gained since accepting her own mortality had brought her here, to this warship, to this man, a place in which she’d felt more at home than she had in a long, long time. It had given her the courage she'd needed to embrace this man of warmth and character. She wasn’t sure she would have had the courage to do so otherwise. She hadn’t been so vividly aware that her life was coming to an end. Reminded every day, either by herself or by the pitying look in the eyes of everyone other than Bill. If she hadn’t known, really known, that this was the ultimate conclusion for the path the gods had chosen for her, she wasn't sure she would have been able to overcome her inner reserve to venture out from behind the sturdy walls she'd worked so hard to put into place after her family had died.

Everything she’d done since her diagnosis, every choice she’d made, it had been unequivocally coloured by the knowledge that this was the end.

Hopeless, she looked up at Bill, seemingly at peace standing in front of her, gazing calmly at her with his back to the stars, letting her have this silence, this moment, to put her thoughts into perspective, to gain a sense of order, of peace, at least to a degree. 

_Damn, he looks good in blue_ , she thought almost absently, the deep cobalt of his uniform contrasting with the dark blanket against which the stars shone and the neutral greys of the observation deck furniture. But then, he'd always looked good to her, with his thick dark hair brushed proudly back from his face and showcasing his classic profile, a profile only emphasized, she thought, but the numerous scars that pocketed his tanned skin, a legacy of his Tauron heritage.

Distracted, she barely noticed she was shivering, only realizing it as he moved to sit next to her and wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her somewhat in his body heat.

“What do I do now?”

 _Who am I supposed to_ be _now?_

She couldn’t go back to the Laura she’d been _before_ , even if the choices she’d made reflected trends that had been building for years. The Laura from the time before her diagnosis no longer existed, there was no way she could go back to being her, even if she wanted to, not that she would want to.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked her quietly, his deep voice rumbling through her as he held her close to his chest.

_Your choice, Laura. Your decision._

She all but heard the subtext to his words. It was her life, her decision as to how to lead it, and he’d support her choices, no matter what those choices might be and where they might lead. All that work, all that effort he and Billy had put into arranging this, arranging for her comfort during her last days, and still he remained utterly willing to put all of that to the side to respect her choice. 

“I don’t know,’ she sighed, resisting the urge to bury her face in his chest.

_Really, what do I want to do now? What do I want, now?_

“I don’t know. I never really considered. You have to realize that, although, of anyone, I think you do. Baltar and I had a very clear understanding. Or at least, I thought we did. He was brutally honest with me, when it came to my prognosis and the purpose of my visits with him, the purpose of his treatments, his assessment of what the end looked would look like - ”

She saw it then, the grimness in the lines around her Admiral’s mouth even as she rambled on, and she fought the urge to reach out to trace them to ease the strain she had caused. She won this particular round against her instincts to run her hands over his face in comfort, but knowing herself the way she did, she knew she wouldn’t win many more. More and more she wondered why she even tried. She felt such release in the comfort of his touch.

“Our first visit, I asked him to be brutal, Bill, I honestly did. The prognosis was bad. I didn't really need him to put it into words for me, my own doctor, and then a convoy of doctors, specialists, experts, had already confirmed it, but I guess I needed one more. Hells,” she smirked “when the ward's head nurse lets you do whatever you want and fails to kick out your friends, or, well I guess, Billy, at the end of visiting hours, it’s pretty clear they don’t expect you around for long.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and, though it hurt, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry you had to go through that along.”

“I had Billy. The fact that there weren’t very many other visitors, other than Baltar, and well that was mostly my fault, anyway.”

He paused a moment before asking her what he clearly had on his mind.

‘Baltar. There are rumours.’

‘I’m aware.’ She finally looked at him. ‘That’s why you were so careful. On Caprica, when Feldgle mentioned I was undergoing treatments with him.’

He met her eyes directly a moment before staring down at her shoulder again, careful, she thought, not to push too hard.

'Billy mentioned some aspects of your care which he found concerning.’

She laughed ruefully, this time not bothering to resist, choosing instead to reach out and touch his cheek gently.

‘See, I’ll make a politician out of you, yet. Yes, I imagine he told you that. You can see why I love that boy.' She paused, not bothering to hide her grin entirely, 'You two had these enlightening conversations while you were stuck in that Caprican hospital room waiting to see if I was ready to rejoin the land of the living?’

He nodded slowly.

‘Ah. Rest assured, Admiral Adama, that every rumour regarding Gauis Baltar is completely true.’

She laughed, long and hard into his chest, feeling the accompanying giggles she knew would follow bubbling up in her weakened body.

‘As you’ve seen, the man is the definition of a frakweasel.’

‘Not even sure I know what that means,’ he told her, ‘but I get the idea.’

‘Trust me, it’s like pornography. You know it when you see it. If you look up the term frakweasel in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure you'll see a picture of his face right there. You’ve no idea how crazy that man is. Honestly, he’s nuts. Brilliant, neurotic, magnetic, self-involved, chauvinistic and nuts. On top of that, the women coming in and out of his office… He's even hit on me from time to time, and he’s seen my medical files. Trust me, the man simply cannot help himself.’

He laughed quietly, and she joined him, though she knew he wouldn’t ever completely understand unless he got the chance to spend more than five minutes in the mercurial doctor's company.

‘I’ve met people like him before. It always seems like the most brilliant people of his ilk are just a little like… sociopaths. That one woman with him in particular; six foot, blonde, stunning, razor sharp and charismatic. You saw it; no one could take their eyes off her.’

She frowned, wondering how much she should tell him about her time and her conversation with Six.

_Had it been real, that time with her? It seemed so unbelievable now, all that had happened. Had she imagined it? It was so fuzzy, looking back. Maybe that was an effect of the shock?_

She had no idea what to believe.

‘I saw her. I’m pretty sure that half my crew, men and women, would sell their souls for her the way they looked at her. Can hardly blame Baltar for being human.’ He smirked as he continued, ‘though I myself prefer redheads.’

‘The sicker the better?’

The grin was blinding.

‘You bet. That’s just the way I roll.’

‘Well. You might have to reconsider your views on that.’

‘I might.’

After her diagnosis, after Adar and the teacher's strike and Baltar, after all that had happened, during that least year and before, she’d kept finding excuses not to let anyone in. To push them out.

She took a deep breath.

She didn't want to do that anymore.

“I just – I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know where _we_ go from here.”

His smile was as gentle as the morning sun and as warm as his light.

“ _We_ go wherever you need to.”

_I will not cry. I will not cry._

“I’m sorry. I know this was meant to be temporary-”

He cut her off mid-stream, thought the gentle rebuke remained as soft as ever.

“Not for me, it wasn’t.”

_I will not cry._

_I will_ not _cry._

“Me, neither. But given my situation - ” which apparently had changed, “I never expected you’d have to put up with me for all that long.”

Honestly, based on the looks Cottle had given her, weeks at the most. She’d felt like death warmed over, only she imagined death was less painful. She'd also known she’d looked it.

“Oh, gods,” she said suddenly as the truth continued to sink in.

“I just realized,” she said, looking at his concerned face and trying to prevent the resurgence of the giggle which continued to fight their way out of her. Shock; it had to be the shock.

“I have to find somewhere to live. I signed it all over to Billy.”

Truth be told, she’d known she was never going back to her little condo, nestled up in the sky by the park off of Caprica’s City’s core. She’d closed up the house, or rather had paid a service to do so, empty the fridge of its pitiful contents and shut it up. She’d been putting off packing it up for entirely too long, but she just hadn’t had the heart for it; to say goodbye to her home. Fledgle had been kind enough to help her pack for her trip to _Valkyrie_ , not a service a patient could ordinarily expect from a top oncologist, and though she had little enough with her here, she’d honestly never thought she’d go back there. It had already taken on the tinge of a dream, the memory of her home, her life even, between Before and After.

Before the diagnosis. After Bill.

Now it appeared she’d had reason to restart her life after all.

“I’m sure Billy will be amenable to putting off his taking possession,” the quiet voice of the man sitting next to her said, even as he gripped her body tighter, and it took her a minute to realize he was teasing her, ever so gently. The deep lines around his glorious blue eyes had deepened, if possible, and the glimmer of mischief there made her want to laugh despite herself.

“Gods, this is a ridiculous situation.”

“I’m not sure you would prefer dying, though if that is the case, I’m sure Cottle and Baltar between them could arrange something.”

Not to mention the Blonde, _Six_ , a little voice whispered somewhere deep inside her, in a memory half-forgotten and she fought off a shiver. What was it with that woman that she scared her more than did the thought of dying? There was just something about her eyes when she’d looked at them all in that lab. Cold, dispassionate and almost remote, like an anthropologist studying a long dead tribe brought to life for her personal study.

_Or did I imagine that as well?_

“Mmm,” she said instead, trying vainly to push the memory of the tall Blonde's smirk out of her head.

Problems for another day. Thinking of her, though, in that brief moment made her wonder what other mysteries were out there waiting to be peeled back. Starting with the one standing in front of her.

“They are really sure I’m not dying,” she questioned aloud, wondering, finally, if it could really be true.

“Seems so,” said her quiet companion.

“And it wouldn’t be easier, for all, for everyone,' _for you_ , 'if I simply faded away.”

_For lack of a better term._

This time he snorted.

“As if that were possible.”

“Well then.”

_Time to grow up, Laura._

“I guess its time I made some plans.”

“Time we both did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing up this chapter this evening - when I say I had technical difficulties - I caught a clip of the Flight of the Pheonix on Twitter, which was delightful. (It's from when Laura christens the Blackbird.) Laura looks delicately ill, Bill looks delicious and as always I couldn't help but notice as he never takes his eyes from her face as if he could tuck her away into his jacket and keep her safe through sheer will. My own personal kyptonite. Anyway, that's the way my Bill looks like throughout this fic, just in case you wanted to know :)
> 
> Also, when I say I had technical details with this chapter, I mean my dog whacked my laptop with her tail, crashed it and with it the draft in AO3, and I lost most of it and had to start over :) At this point I can't remember what I had and what I have now and what I was thinking of adding. It all blurs together. Hopefully it all makes sense. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kind thoughts; I needed them this week!
> 
> Keep them coming - suggestions, comments, speculation for this as it moves forward. I - might - be writing a evening of some kind for the happy couple, meaning...


	23. Plans

It was utterly exhausting, Laura soon found out, the act of blowing up one’s life and then trying to form something out of the pieces that survived somewhat intact. She found that no matter how hard she tried she simply couldn’t escape all that she’d thought she’d left behind for good. It shouldn’t have surprised her, the lingering effect of one's life, but it did. Once she’d slept for what felt like three days, she found it was still there. Waiting for her. Her life. The good news was, she’d long ago determined what was important and what she could afford to let go.

It also helped that she’d let in a few valued souls in to help see her through.

It was Bill's family who, unexpectedly, or maybe less so, showed up to take care of her once again. And thank goodness for it, as it looked like her life would continue to have its complications, not the least of which would be the continuing presence of Gaius Baltar and his never-ending fascination with her cell count. Bill and his crew could only do do much there; she was going to be stuck for a considerable time with Baltar. It seemed there was no escaping her penance. The tests would continue, had continued already, as his giddy search for the meaning behind her miraculous recovery continued. No, Gaius Baltar was not going away. (Neither, it appeared, was his mysterious and intimidating ‘research associate’, whose ominous words continued to echo in Laura’s brain.) The follow-up appointments were excruciating, but then she’d expected that from the moment she'd managed to wrap her head around the results her least favourite frakweasel had so proudly announced. He took a slightly less than humanistic approach to her as a person and she was continually reminded that, to him, she remained as much of a lab rat as ever. She smirked internally even so. She was well aware that were it up to Baltar, she would be parked permanently in an Observation cell next to his lab, to be wheeled out on occasion when called for. Thank the gods she'd be spared that.

Thank the gods she wasn't alone as she maneuvered around him. Though she would never have imagined thinking it, she was often forced to ruminate gratefully on whatever the fates had done to ensure she had Doc Cottle to stand at her side while Baltar poked and prodded at her veins. He was relentless; questioning ever move Baltar made, pushing him to explain himself, to limit him to only those tests which were necessary, rather than all of those he might have run just for fun. Cottle's bedside manner didn't get any better and he still smoked that smouldering weed more than anyone should, its acrid smoke lingering in her clothes, but she had to admit that she couldn’t have asked for a better, or grumpier, champion.

Adar, though, Adar was a problem she alone would have to deal with. He would be a problem for the duration of this process, she knew, even as far out as they travelled. She’d known it even before Bill had asked her quietly about the implications about Adar's involvement, had known it every moment for years. As Bill had reminded her, Adar had been joined at the hip with Baltar for years, and she’d known the entire time of her treatment that Baltar had been feeding every detail of her condition to her former boss. She wasn't surprised he continued to do so now that there had been this incredible breakthrough that Baltar continued to refer to as his 'legacy'. In any case, she’d been dodging her President’s calls for a while now and she wasn’t sure how long she could continue to do so, even with the help of Adama’s exceptional staff. Eventually she’d have to face her daemons herself. Her family could only do so much to shield her from the consequences of her actions. 

They tried, though.

She’d thought it was due to their love and loyalty to Bill, but more and more she wondered if there might be room in their life to love her too. It certainly seemed they were willing to try.

Adar, she knew though, would have be faced eventually.

Adama had asked her once, during dinner one day, the one meal they did their best to share consistently, what exactly she'd said to him, that day in the hospital room back on Caprica.

To her surprise, she found she didn’t know how to answer him, at least not in regards to the exact words.

As with a lot of things from those days, there was a bit of fuzzy haze that surrounded her time there, particularly in regards to that final conversation with Richard. She attempted to pierce it together, but in a lot of ways she found it hard to remember. What exactly had she said to her lover of twenty years who had suddenly looked small in her eyes? She couldn't remember. What exactly had she said to the man who'd recently been her closest friend and at the same time had once been her boss and close political ally? She couldn't remember. She only remembered the shock of realizing that she could no longer look him comfortably in his eyes as she suddenly realized she had been propping him up all these years. She couldn’t remember what exactly she'd to him, only what she'd felt, trying and failing to look him directly in the eye. She couldn't remember the words she'd used, to express her disappointment at the ways he'd failed her. Not exactly. It hurt to try, so she’d simply smiled at Bill gently and caressed the side of his warm face with each hand, grateful she’d found him at last.

She’d managed to convince Bill to stick with the original plan, which had been to continue with _Valkyrie’s_ orders to patrol that ill-defined, nebulous area where humans and Cylon space intersected. He hadn’t been a hard sell. She’d been a bit surprised, though, that he hadn't had more concrete plans for what this ill-defined 'mission' was supposed to have looked like, given that by all rights she should be dead and gone by now. Still, instead of pushing for their return to Caprica City and access to its world-renowned medical facilities, though, something she'd half expected, he'd given in relatively easily to her arguments that they should carry on.

‘Your bosses didn’t find it strange that you’d decided to pick up a stray and take her and her ‘baggage’ for a joy-ride? ’she’d asked him one day, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.

‘By ‘baggage’ you mean Baltar?’

‘Baltar and his… ‘associate’, though I guess you’d have to throw Billy in there as well.’

He laughed.

‘I stretched the definition of the Colonial Forces' compassionate program to the max to get you here, that’s the truth.’

‘I assumed it had to be something like that; you couldn’t exactly smuggle me on board.’

The wheelchair would have given them away, let alone the oxygen tank, as at the time she’d hadn’t exactly been what you would call mobile.

‘True.’ There’s that smile again. ‘I relied heavily on the fact that neither the President nor the Admiralty wanted me hanging around, at the very least not while they could picture me making a nuisance of myself when it came to you and the course of your treatment. I drew a very vivid picture for them of what that would look like and then very carefully pointed out that they would avoid a public relations headache by allowing you to come along for the duration instead.’

‘And now that the ‘duration’ is going to be significantly longer than any of us could have imagined?’

‘The _Valkyrie_ was scheduled for a three-month patrol, Laura. After that, we’ll decide what we do next.’

_Make a plan, together._

Truth was, sometimes she wondered if there would be enough time during that long patrol for her to get used to the reality of the 'Cure' as it was increasingly becoming known. She’d heard of the treatment being worse than the disease, but in her case, this seemed to be taken to the extreme. The truth was that she hadn’t exactly been in the pink of health before the diagnosis and her miraculous recovery, and her body struggled to return to something approaching normalcy after over a year of inactivity and muscle degeneration. Cottle warned her again and again that she could only take it so fast and he watched over her painful rehab sessions like a hawk. (Surprising these sessions were made slightly less painful by the regular visits of many of Bill's crew and by the regular performances of the surprisingly comedic duo of Saul Tigh and Kara Thrace. Even though she knew they had to be on their best behaviour, she was often so distracted by their bickering that she forgot to watch the clock while the physiotherapist put her through her paces.)

As a result of these exertions; the emotional stress of restarting her life - an emotional weight even she couldn't deny - and the constant request from her least favourite genius for test after additional test, she couldn't help but be was exhausted, and often wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed at regular intervals to sleep it off. To a surprising degree, she often felt worse than when she was dying. She was also well aware that she was not handling it well. 

'At least the expectations for how I would behave were a lot lower, then,' she grumbled to Kara. 

'When everyone thought you were dying, you mean?' the young pilot replied seriously, before pulling the most outrageous face at her and laughing with her. 'Living does have its downsides, you know. Guess you'll just have to suck it up, Madame Secretary.'

The more she recovered in stamina and strength, the more the fact that she remained snugly installed in the Admiral’s bed even while he remained safely parked in the traditional guest suite next door became an everlasting thorn in her side. The fact she'd been yet unable to address it effectively bugged her, daily. The most recent conversation they’d had regarding the issue, when she’d brought up, _again_ , the seemingly scandalous idea that he might want his home back, had ended with him walking out, be it ever so politely. Her most recent attempt to address the situation by herself, when she'd attempted to make the switch to the guest quarters while Bill was on duty, occupied with pressing matters in the C.I.C., had resulted in the humiliating spectacle of Starbuck cutting her off at the hatch before the Marines outside had had to.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she’d told Bill again and again. ‘This is your home. Your office is here. You should be here. Don’t tell me it wouldn’t make things much easier and make much more sense to have me there and you here.’

He changed the subject, over and over again, and she ultimately realized he simply had no intention of listening to anything she said and likewise had no intention of giving in. Meanwhile, Starbuck, in that awkward moment which had followed Laura’s attempts to resolve the problem herself, had simply told her not to worry about it.

‘It’s S.O.P., sir. Visiting Dignitaries at Cabinet level or above take the Admiral’s quarters for the duration,’ she told Laura in her direct way, seemingly convinced that it was simply a matter of educating her new friend on proper military protocol. 

‘But I’m not a Visiting Dignitary.’

Laura wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, that she was, but whatever it was, it had to be a great deal more personal than that.

Once again she cursed the timing, cursed the lingering effects of the cancer and the 'Cure' on her body. Ideally they could share the Quarters, though the presence of the large bed in the back section stood between them like a giant elephant in a tiny china shop. (Though really, as far as she was concerned, they could be, _should be_ , sharing that as well, though they’d not known each other that long. It wasn’t like it wouldn’t happen eventually she was sure, and patience had never been one of Laura Roslin's strong suits. Increasingly, during those daily moments of peace when she mediated in the quiet dimness of Observation, she found herself irritated by the very question, pondering ways to make _that_ day come quicker.)

In the meantime, it was just awkward.

 _Plus_ , she grumbled to herself, _it was cold, in that big bed alone_. And she hated that, that feeling of freezing from the inside, filled with an icy chill that never abated and that no amount of tea or number of comforters could cure. She'd hinted at that once, to Bill, looking for him to offer to share his body heat to warm her in that big bed.

He'd had Jaffe bring her a large selection of extra blankets.

She sighed. She had no idea how to resolve the issue, at least not immediately. In the meantime, he was stuck working out of the guest suite (he spent every waking non-working hour with her, though), and she was stuck with this lonely, guilty feeling every night in his rack.

Guilty, cold, and well, she could admit it to herself - a little lonely, in the sheets that should have been theirs, curled up with the pillow that should have been his.

And impatient, the more so the more time they spent cuddled up on the couch, with his arm around her or his head in her lap, running the thick silk of his glorious head of hair through her fingers, or her head on his solid warm thigh as she used it as a pillow, drifting off as he read to her. His deep voice rumbled through his chest and wrapped around her as he read to her the tales of scandal and intrigue from the noir classics they both loved, his voice wrapping her in a warmth his blankets never could. It was driving her to distraction she admitted, if only to herself.

 _Did he have to get more attractive every single frakking day?_ she wondered. _It was unfair._

As the exhaustion faded and she grew stronger, the rehab sessions grew lighter and less frequent. She no longer felt the need to sleep as often as she had, and she no longer ended up grabbing the handrail on her way through the ship as she stepped over hatches and onto rises. She also found, strangest of all things, that she missed working. Access to Adama’s substantial library soon took care of that, and she found herself increasingly responding to the material she found there. As the reports from home grew more and more troubling, she found it increasingly necessary to pick up her pen again. As her thoughts on the increasing unrest codified themselves into a general form, she found she no longer wanted to resist the urge to throw herself into the debates currently raging, realizing she’d at last found a way to move forward from what was left of the ruins of her political career.

When the _Journal of Higher Education_ accepted the draft of the short opinion piece she'd submitted, with interest in more to come, she confessed to Bill what she herself had just admitted, that she'd come to the conclusion that she never again wished to re-enter the political arena.

‘You’re engaged in politics now,’ he reminded her as he pointed at the title of the article in question.

She rolled her eyes, laughing with him.

‘That’s not what I mean and you know it. It’s political but it isn’t _politics_ ,’ she reminded him.

She wasn’t yet sure what the future held, for her, for him, for them, but she’d remembered why she’d been interested in policy issues to begin with, and her renewed purpose increasingly moved her forward. More and more, it was as if she was re-engaging with the world, moving out of the fugue she’d buried herself in.

It turned out she was interested in living, after all.

She reminded herself of that the night Bill came home, greeting her with concerned glances and a message in hand from the Admiralty.

‘I could stall them,’ he offered with only a hint of a smile, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if he was serious.

‘Think they’d see it for what it was,’ she ventured back. ‘But if you’re game, so am I.’

 _Run away with me,_ she wanted to ask, whimsically, and for a moment she wasn't sure if _she_ was serious. 

He laughed, but she still saw the raw worry in his eyes.

‘Might work for a day or two,’ he offered, and this time she didn’t wonder.

He was serious.

‘No,’ she sighed, feeling the skipping of her pulse.

 _Stay with me_ , she thought, and knew her wish was real.

‘It’s time. I guess I’ll just have to face the music.

It's time to go back.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know this is late, my internet decided enough was enough :) 
> 
> Going to skip a week next week due to ... reasons. As in... reasons that I am doing my best to write ;)
> 
> In the mean time, take care of each other, and spare some thought for Michael Hogan and his family.


	24. Long Forgotten Joys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True Love's Kiss.

Five days before they made it ‘home’, she threw caution to the wind, deciding to ply him with a little wine, an excellent dinner - to be provided by his remarkable galley chef - and mood lighting.

To that end, she decided to add what her limited wardrobe could provide in seductive attire to the mix; in this case a dress she’d enlisted from Starbuck of all people. She wasn’t sure the dress itself was Kara’s, it didn’t seem her style, made of a deep grey drapey material that contrasted with Laura's skin and the auburn of her hair. With a few adjustments, it cinched in at her waist and drifted out behind her, leaving her shoulders bare and showcasing her clavicles – phenomenal if she did say so – and her decent cleavage. Not Kara's style at all. She’d asked her how she’d happened to have it, but to be honest the story hadn’t made much sense (Kara had told her a rambling story in her way, full of jokes and funny asides - something about sorority girls, one in a grey dress and one in a blue, and a poker game and Kara’s friend Helo and inappropriate touching and about how it’s equally inappropriate when it’s done to men and some sort of wager and sweatshirts from some place called Giant Tiger that disintegrate after one use? To be honest, Laura had been lost, laughing, three minutes in). Maybe the dress was tight in areas she regretted and loose in others, but altogether - not being brave enough to go to Ellen for help adjusting it - she still thought it was worth the effort. 

She hadn’t missed the way Bill looked at her sometimes, when he hadn't known she was watching and sometimes when he knew she was, hadn’t imagined the heat she caught in his eyes from time to time when she’d looked up as they curled up together on opposite sides of the comfy couch late at night, him with his never-ending files, her with the latest draft of her paper her editor had sent over. No, she hadn’t missed the heat that burnt in his eyes sometimes, when she slipped her bare foot out from under the throw to rub it up the length of his thigh.

He was waiting, for her, she imagined, following her lead. Waiting to see when she felt up to. All she had to reach out and take him. Claim what was hers.

She’d wanted to, all those nights, all those times he’d tucked her into his rack, even more when he’d curl up first, arrange it so she could use his chest as the warmest pillow she could imagine as he read her to sleep as the comforting rumble of voice soothed her soul and vibrated through her body. Yes, she’d wanted to take him, finish the journey, bring their story full-circle to where she needed to be, his body joined to hers. She just hadn’t been all the way there. Or maybe he hadn’t been.

Yet.

But, either way, time was running out before they had to go back, and she was ready.

Mostly.

Five days. She had five days to pull herself together, and she meant to use every last minute of them.

The forced air they lived in meant it was chillier in Bill’s Quarters than she would have liked and despite the pragmatic voice in her head she refused to ruin the effect of the dress by wearing her clunky shoes, choosing to wander around instead in bare feet. The cool air on her skin and the chill that emanated from the steel floor despite the multitude of carpets made her shiver, a problem she solved by throwing one of his blue uniform jackets over her dress, though she left it hanging open. It was predictably large on her – he was so much broader than she even if he only had a couple of inches on her five foot six frame – but it was warm and the smell of him that emanated from it was comforting, which helped to settle her nerves, a helpful detail. 

Fussing with the table the galley crew had set up earlier, she made point of checking how much the candles had burnt down since she’d lit them, wondering idly again if she should blow them out and wait to light them after he got… home.

Frak it, she thought. He’ll be here soon. They could stay lit. She was sure the galley had supplied extras in any case.

Frak.

Why was she so nervous?

_It’s just dinner, Laura. Or, well, it can be just dinner, if you want to be. It can’t be anything you want to be. It can be just dinner, or it could be something more, you don’t even have to decide now, you can play it by ear if you want to. Whatever you want to do. However far you want to go._

Oh, who the frak was she kidding.

They had to have sex before they got back. If only for her mental health. She was going to combust if she had to keep looking and not touching the man whose rooms she was sharing. That or the sexual tension that increasingly filled the room when they sat together would spontaneously combust all by itself. 

He laughed with her sometimes, hells, he laughed _at_ her, sometimes, even as she threw a cushion at him, the deep creases of his dimples showcasing themselves nicely against the bright white of his smile and the olive of his skin. Sometimes, when he paused at whatever section of their book he was at, he would look down at her to see if she was falling asleep, curled up with her head on his thigh, and his deep blue eyes would peer into her, reflecting the deep blue cobalt of his uniform, and oh, those days, she _yearned,_ to use the collar of his uniform tunic to pull him down enough to her level so she could give him the kiss she dreamed of giving him, deep and unhurried and never-ending. 

Yup.

As much as she liked the way he looked in it, if she didn’t get to manage him out of that uniform soon, she was going to combust.

She could tell he wanted her; she could see it. Sometimes she could even feel it, with the way he touched her, the ways he choose not to touch her and the way he looked at her as she rested her head on her thigh. She just had to make sure he knew she was ready. She wasn’t the same woman, anymore, that he’d met in Adar’s office, not emotionally, and certainly not physically. She was sure she wasn’t going to break if he handled her with less than a 100% delicacy. In fact, she admitted to herself, she very much wanted him to manhandle her. Just a little. If there was one way to ensure she knew she was alive, it would be that.

She just had to find a way to let him know it. 

_Great job, Laura. Now you’re horny. Well. Hornier._

He wasn’t due for another half-an-hour at the very least, and there was simply not enough for her to do to keep herself distracted other than pace through the Quarters, suddenly not nearly large enough to contain her nerves. Pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher that Private Jaffe always ensured was full, she contemplated her options as the nervous energy coiled inside of her. She could curl up on her favourite sectional and try to distract herself with a book. She could double-check everything, again, to make sure all was ready – other than the meal, which would be delivered later by the galley so it stayed at optimal temperature – or… she could pace.

She did a lot of pacing.

She’d managed to settle herself, somewhat, leaning back against the front of his massive desk to flip through an old mystery that she’d read at some point years ago, when the hatch finally opened, and he walked through. Looking up as he walked towards her, she watched as he struggled to ignore the tension filling the room even as he looked at her in her unusual attire with appreciation. There was a gentle look in those eyes she loved so much and she suddenly felt a great deal warmer than she had a moment ago, even with her bare feet on the cold floor. As he walked slowly up to her, stopping only when his booted feet were a fraction of an inch from touching her bare toes, she looked up at him, wondering why he felt so much taller than her in that moment. Or maybe it was only because so close to her his broad shoulders blocked out everything but the blue of his uniform and the sense of him looming over her.

‘Hi,’ she said, a little breathless.

‘Hi.’

‘Umm, I was thinking – ‘

That as far as she got though, as he leaned all the way over and around her, his hand on either side planting themselves on the top of the desk she was leaning on, the book she was still holding getting crushed between them. And though she knew how he feels about vintage paperbacks and covers and the delicacy of the thing between them, she thrills as he resolutely skimmed those hands through the edges of his uniform jacket as he did so, leaving them both wrapped up in it with the book crushed between them and their faces mere inches from each other, the intimacy almost overwhelming as her focus suddenly narrows to his eyes looking in hers, searching. It’s tempting, then, to close her eyes, to let him take the lead into the kiss, but she’s wanted this for so long and it’s been such a long time since she felt this ready and this steady on her feet that she’s not ready to give up that moment just yet.

‘Hi,’ he tells her again and she leans in to cut him off before he goes any further, molding her lips to his and closing her eyes only when she feels his hands suddenly shift between the jacket to press against her back, his arms flexing as he eliminates the air between them, crushing her into him. The sweetest of kisses, the warmest of embraces, it hangs there, a moment, before she tilts her head to change the angle and it turns hot.

When he pulls back, again, only an inch, so they can break the kiss to breathe and check in, she feels the blush blooming over every inch of her skin and she smiles, shifting her hands from where they’d somehow shifted from wrapping around his waist to clinging to his back, bringing them even closer.

‘Hi,’ she tells him again, and they stand there a moment, just luxuriating for a moment, their arms around each other, and she knows she’s found it. Without a doubt. Home. 

She also knows that the dinner date and the evening she has planned was a very, very good idea on her part.

They break the embrace only when they hear the polite knock on the hatch, and when Private Jaffee walks in they are politely apart, a correct three feet apart, though Laura can feel where the blush continues to mark her fair complexion. She knows Jaffe can see it, that blush, which of course makes her blush even more, though she tries to ignore it as he bustles around setting out the food in the chafing dishes and she does her best to stay out of his way. Bill had excused himself to freshen up, and she always feels a bit awkward standing there, but soon enough Jaffee has finished and is making his way towards the hatch as Bill dismisses him with thanks as he walks back into the living area, still drying his hands. 

‘What’s this?’ he asks as he checks out the table.

It’s clearly set-up for a romantic dinner for two with napkins neatly placed and long, tapered candles carefully placed and lit in the middle of it. Looking up at her, the candlelight gleams in his beautiful eyes and then she sees it, the moment he sees her, really sees her, and the way she’s dressed, Kara’s borrowed dress and his uniform jacket and all.

‘Laura,’ he continues before she can say anything and she watches him swallow, his Adams apple visibly moving in his throat.

Oh gods, oh gods, he’s just standing there, as she wonders how ridiculous she looks in the dress that’s both obviously too big for her (especially after all the weight she’s lost this year, not that she’d ever been overly endowed) and obviously wrong for a dinner for two in these rooms at the heart of a massive military installation. Gods, how stupid was she? She looked stupid, she had to, she knows it, and she’s being too obvious, and he probably doesn’t even want this and –

Fighting the urge to protect herself by folding her arms in front of her chest, she tilts her chin waiting for his response, knowing he’s too gentle to say anything hurtful, but will probably try to space her feelings by saying something gently about how she’d probably want to get changed into something warmer and, oh, she can’t bear it and -

‘You look – lovely, Laura.’

_Umm-_

_Frak._

‘Thank you,’ she tells him, shocked at how weak her voice sounds coming out of her chest, and she sees it now, the heat in his eyes, as she relaxes a little, basking in the warmth of his admiring gaze. Feeling bolder, she moves closer to where he’s standing at the table, retreating to the tried and true of taking control of the moment.

‘I hope you didn’t mind; I’ve told them to leave the food warming and we’d serve ourselves.’

 _Family-style,_ they’d called it, and oh, how she’d loved the sound of that.

‘I’m sure you must be hungry?’ she asks as she maneuvers a little closer to him feeling at once the predator and the prey, with his eyes still on her but his body still held a little way, as if protectively, away from her. ‘Or we could relax with a drink -well, coffee for me, Chef made sure there was plenty, I told him how much I love it – first?’

_Damn man, why was he making this so difficult?_

She was rambling she knew, but he was making her nervous, still standing there, especially after that kiss and everything that it had promised.

In the meantime a small part of brain, awakened by the kiss, continued to scream at her. _Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Laura, we must kiss that man more often._

It would be okay, she knew, the two of them would refuse to have it otherwise, but for the moment he was just standing there, looking at her, as if stunned, with that inscrutable look on his face. It took a minute, but he snapped out of it, though there was still a confused (?) gleam in his eye as if he was unsure as to what to expect. He cleared his throat a little, looking at her now, but at least seemed to have remembered how to speak.

‘A drink sounds good – or maybe water, if you’re not – ‘

‘No, sit, sit, let me get you a drink – I’ll enjoy it vicariously,’ she told him, hoping to break the tension and get things a little bit more on track, ‘through you.’

‘Doc Cottle still making sure you play it safe?’ he asked as she waved him off as she moved to the decanter to pour him a drink – lords knew she was comfortable in the space - and he moved to sit down in his usual spot, though she noted he settled carefully on the edge instead of sitting back comfortably, and she sighed a tiny sigh of relief, knowing they would soon be back on solid ground.

‘Yup,’ she sighed. ‘Still stuck with decaf.’

Determined, though, not to get caught up in their usual discussion of her health, tonight of all nights, though, she changed the subject as she caught up her glass of water in her free hand and moved to sit down next to him.

‘Kara tells me the exercises with her newbies went well today,’ she begins, hoping to have him read her into his day, hoping that might relax him a bit, and it does, and as she watches as he relaxes into his seat and into her company. She basks in the way he trusts her, with his confidence, with the way he looks to her for advice, and she forgets her nerves in regards to what she has planned for tonight. It’s as natural as breathing, somehow, as they migrate to the dinner table shortly after that, seemingly taking the decision organically as they both realize how much they’re both looking forward to the food, the odours of which are drifting tantalizingly over to them.

She serves them, for the most part, and enjoys the warmth as they settle in. The food is just as delicious as she’d anticipated when she’d planned the menu, executed flawlessly by the galley crew, though she shouldn’t be surprised, she's sure part of their duties are planning dinners for Bill when he has to host high-ranking dignitaries. In the meantime she enjoys the food and the enjoys the conversation and she enjoys the laughter, hers and his. She enjoys watching her companion eat the food she’d decided on, enjoys his company more, and, for the first time in a long, long time, enjoys food as something other than substance to keep her going.

Bill frowns a little, at the spare amount of cheese sprinkled over the bread in her French onion soup, although she reassures him that it was at her direction that it’s so sparse, given Cottle’s concerns as to how her body might handle anything other than the most bland of foods. He teases her then, telling her she’s welcome to share his, provided she has something to barter with, and pretends to warn her off when she laughs and steals some of his anyway. The pasta that follows, already plated, each serving a handful of coin-sized cheese raviolis in a slightly richer tomato sauce, is delicious, though she can see he’s wondering if he’s meant to starve along with her as he looks at the portions.

‘Not to worry,’ she teases him, ‘we can always send for more oatmeal.’

She’s keen to point out that there’s more safely warm in the chafing dish behind them, though she waves him off as he goes to refill her plate as long with his own, glad to see he’s enjoying it. He's open about the fact that he does, openly appreciative of her efforts, though she can see that the entrees that follow, a slice of Caprican sea bass the size of her palm and the mixed grilled vegetables that accompany it, are clearly more to his taste.

They take their time, the two of them, exchanging bites and conversation, at times getting distracted from their food by their argument, fighting over anything and everything before reaching out to steal particularly choice morsels from each other’s plate. She’s lost track of time, shocked slightly to find that they’ve been sitting at their meal for more than two hours, the empty plates stacked to the side and the way her jaw aches a bit from laughing the only indication of the time they’ve spent enjoying it.

The only awkward moment is when, being especially daring, she reaches out to steal the tiniest of sips of the bone-dry white wine that Chef had sent to accompany the meal and that Bill has left mostly untouched by his plate all night. She’s careful to keep it to the smallest, tiniest of sips, a single, solitary one, despite her desire for more, and he doesn’t say anything, though his eyes darken, and if she didn’t know better, she might almost think he pouts. She watches the way his eyes darken to the bluish-grey of Caprican seas during a storm and though she likes the idea that it’s because he likes the way she licks the wine off her lips – it was less than a sip, really, it was basically just a wetting of her lips ever so barely with bone-dry acidic wine, enjoying the aroma of mineral and grapefruit before licking it off slowly to enjoy the taste – she knows it for what it really is.

He’s annoyed.

Annoyed that she broke the rules, every so slightly, by ‘sipping’ the wine. Choosing to break the rules _there_ when she’s been so careful otherwise, sticking to the delightful decaf coffee that the galley had been careful to include in spades, choosing to break the rules after all they’d been through by inhaling that tiny sip of alcohol. Annoyed with her for making this choice. 

_Good_.

Besides the fact that she’d a big girl and she can make her own choices – ironic, she knows, given all they’ve been through – she also decides it's a good thing, for them. It’s never a bad thing to surprise William Adama, she thinks, and given what she suspects regarding the conversation they’re sure to have to have later, it might not be a bad thing to keep him on his toes. 

Because if he’s annoyed she’s choosing to break her doctor’s rules with the dinner and the wine, the better he'll have to pay attention when she decides to obliterate the ones he has set out for her.

She leaves it for now, finishing her dinner, watching him finish his and stick demurely with the water set out in front of her, watching him watch her even as they laugh and talk. And if her hand drifts a little further up his arm than it ordinarily might as she laughs as she tells him a juicy story, if her thigh sticks a little closer to his than it ordinarily would, well, that shouldn’t be a problem for two close friends, right? And if she suspects she might see a little blush peeking up out of his uniform top, well, isn’t that encouraging?

He packs the dinner dishes away, waving her away when she would help, but she’s crafty, waiting until his back is turned to drop them off by the entrance to his Quarters before she quickly moves to where she’s hidden the dessert, laying out the tiny chocolate pots, barely the diameter of her forefinger and thumb when pressed together and filled with barely a biteful of rich chocolate mousse and topped with the tiniest scoop of whipped cream, on the coffee table in front of their usual seats for the two of them.

He’s back by then, and he frowns at her again, insisting on taking over the coffee-prepping duties – _decaf, Bill,_ she reminds him again with a smirk - as she hauls out the very last course to set next to the chocolate, a small selection of fruit (of which she can have as much as she wants) and aged cheddar (of which she intends to have only one small slice).

It’s cozy again, between them, and dark, and relaxed, and before long he’s once again putty in her hands as she carefully and slowly savours the savory and the sweet, the aged cheddar lingering on her tongue to be washed away by the acidity of the fruit. They're relaxed and safe and warm and she has him all to herself for the foreseeable future, a rarity in and of itself. (If she catches him checking the clock one more time, though, worried apparently about tiring her out, she may have to confiscate his chocolate.) She’s gratefully accepted his throw over her knees, not worried about the effect given the way he watches her with heat in his every glance, and by now she’s wearing his uniform jacket draped over her shoulders as a cape, less for warmth, though it does help, but more for the way she can still smell him drifting from it every time she shifts.

Laughing at one of his jokes though, dry and full of layers as per usual, her shoulders jerk – it’s a really funny joke – and the uniform jacket slips to fall from her shoulders and pools at her waist. Not needing it for warmth, she lets it sit there, draped around her waist as his eyes darken even more and he stumbles a little over the next punch line and he looks at her and reaches out to grasp the jacket –

And drapes it back carefully over her shoulders.

And as carefully as he does that, and as carefully as he moves her hair out of the way as he puts his jacket back in place and as carefully as he closes it back around her to keep her warm, that’s how much she wants to scream with frustration.

She waits until he’s done though. Waits until he’s placed it carefully back into position and has carefully sat back into his seat so he doesn’t jolt her and has carefully picked up his coffee cup again to cradle it in his massive hands and look over at her as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Then, and only then, does she do what she’s been thinking off as a balm for her soul and a substitute for hissing obscenities at him under her breath. Tilting her head and holding his eyes and waiting for the right moment, the quietest, calmest moment, waiting until she has his complete and undivided attention, she looks at him sitting there like an a deliberately obtuse bump on a deliberately obtuse log, one determined to drape her in blankets and capes when she wants him to cover her with the warmth of his body and the weight of his chest.

She gives it a minute and waits until she has his full, complete, undivided attention, waits until he looks at her and she's sure he will know she is being one hundred percent deliberate.

Holds his gaze.

And shrugs her shoulders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not kidding, my only note in the outline for this chapter was -  
> "Okay, they have to have sex before they go ‘home’. For mental health reasons, at least."
> 
> Not there yet, but can you blame me, they're having way too much fun :)


	25. Legacies

It was never a question of being ‘stubborn.’

As she was growing up, Laura Roslin’s parents worried about many things, as parents do. Wanting only the best for their three daughters, they did their best to prepare them for the world and give them every opportunity to gain the tools necessary to live their best lives. Blessed with three delightful, intelligent and empathetic daughters, they were confident that they would find their way, both on their own and with each other. (It was a support system they would need too soon, unfortunately, following the untimely death of their mother. It was also one Laura was forced to live without far too early, resulting from a tragedy no one could have foreseen.)

Nonetheless, like all parents, they both cared for and worried for, their daughters in different, if equal, ways. No one would ever accuse the Roslins of favoritism when it came to their daughters, but it was an established truth that each girl had different needs at different times, as people do, and so it was not surprising that Laura’s parents worried, as parents do, differently regarding each of their daughters. 

With Cheryl, the sporty, outgoing, baby of the family, they worried they babied her too much, even as they found never-ending ways to baby her more, letting her push the boundaries the older girls had never been allowed to get near and then fretting when she blew right past them. When it came to Sandra, the classic middle child, the quietest and most studious of the three, they worried when she revelled too much in her introverted nature, and were forever worrying when they found her alone, pushing her instead to overcome her natural aversion to putting herself out there, and were forever encouraging her to try new things, meet new people, encourage her interests outside of her beloved books, at least some of the time.

Laura, though, they worried about Laura the most. Not because she was a problem child, no, far from it. Naturally emphatic and protective of her younger siblings, she soon extended these impulses to the needs of those she saw around her and ultimately to her community at large. Teacher’s college might have somewhat of a surprise, but it was clear her leadership qualities would soon extend to any field she might enter. As she grew into a quiet beauty with an ease about her and intellect to match, she was also quietly popular as a teenager, and as an adult she moved through all levels of society, mingling easily with people from all walks of life.

Despite all indications that Laura would have proven an easy child to parent, despite all the times her teachers and other parents told them that she was just a joy to have around the truth was her parents had worried just as much, if not more, as they did about her sisters, during her childhood. They might have pushed Sandra to be braver and Cheryl to be more patient, but they never worried about them in quite the same way they worried about Laura and her temperament.

Specifically, the rage they could see boiling within her, her face turning red as she struggled to control it, the way her eyes tightened at the corners, her answers to all inquiries getting shorter and sharper, right before she blew, devastating her sisters, and sometimes her classmates, with her sharp tongue. 

When they got these reports, the Roslins would sigh, hold on to their own tempers and remind her over and over and over again, hoping to drill some sense into the thick skull of their oldest daughter.

‘Watch your temper, Laura,’ they’d remind her.

‘Words hurt, Laura.’

‘Don’t be so impatient with other people, Laura,’ her mother told her again and again. ‘Remember they haven’t had your advantages.’

‘Think before you snap, Laura.’

‘Try to be patient, Laura.’ 

‘You must control your temper,’ her father snapped, more often than he liked to admit.

Even as she learned to control it as an adult, Laura Roslin always had the memory of her parents, reminding her to be kinder, be more patient, be more gentle, be more considerate of other people’s needs. Reminding her to breathe, think before speaking. Reminding her to hold her tongue, just that extra second.

Reminding her to control her temper.

She worked on it, as she worked on everything else, burying her temper deep, deep down, so that as an adult, almost no one would have accused her or of being overly temperamental. Quite the opposite, in fact. The model of patience people said, sometimes, in the reports published by those newspapers with a political bent. Even those reporters who followed her closely had no idea of how she embraced it as just another tool in her bag. Patience as a political tool. Using the reputation for being even-tempered as a political tool. She worked hard at it, and she worked long, and before long, if there was one thing everything knew about Laura Roslin, it was that she was calm and patient and level-headed. 

Never being able to successfully pierce the façade she wore, never really knowing her, the very most the experienced journalists who covered the political beat could say was that Laura Roslin “persevered” (a euphemism most often used for those they were too polite to call someone “stubborn”).

But the truth was, Laura Roslin was stubborn. The angrier she got, the more her stubborn temper reasserted herself.

When she was mad, she got very, very mad, and when she was mad, it was as if she was made of granite.

Bill Adama never stood a chance.

The stupid man was looking at her, a quizzical look on his stupid face as he reached out to grasp the uniform jacket, presuming, she supposed to put it back in place. As if determined to ignore all the signs she’d given and pretend that what she’d done was an accident. As if she hadn’t known exactly what she was doing. As if she hadn’t known exactly to knock that jacket off her shoulders, known the exact physical force required to dislodge it after he’d insisted on placing it back on, to keep her _warm_ , she assumed, in the process delaying her efforts to remind him exactly how she’d dressed to impress, done her best to seduce him.

Even as he reached out to cover her once again, _she_ reached out to cover his hands with hers, stilling them even as he frowned at her, impatient. She’d never been fond of games, she reminded herself, and this last year had only confirmed her unwillingness to waste time.

‘Laura. It’s cold in here,’ he told her, a growl in his voice.

‘I’m fine, Bill.’

‘Cottle says you need to keep warm. We don’t the long-term side-effects of Baltar’s ‘treatments’. You’ve told me yourself you’re always cold-’ he babbled, distracted, trying to tug the jacket back into place until apparently giving up and switching his attention to the spare blanket hanging off his end of the sectional, as if reminded there were better things available in which to wrap her.

She noticed suddenly how many more blankets were now draped on the sectional than there had been at first, additional ones scattered around the room, scattered into the office and thrown haphazardly over every chair in sight. There were _blankets_ on every chair, she noticed, looking at the room now, way more than there had been when she’d first arrived.

‘- and you’re not even wearing shoes, your feet are like ice – I mean… How did I not notice? Wait, let me get your slippers,’ he told her suddenly, getting up as if to leave, even as she held tight to keep him still.

‘Laura- ’

‘I’m perfectly fine, Bill.’

‘Who doesn’t wear shoes?’ he grumbled, not paying attention, still tugging at her hand.

‘Bill.’

_Focus_.

‘Hmm?”

Giving up, she reached up to grab him by the dog tags, crooking her finger in a get-your-ass-over-here motion as she does. She’s surprised it works as well as it does, he leans down with little effort on her part, until retakes his seat and his face is back where it belongs, only inches from her own.

‘I’d like for you to kiss me now, please.’

He gives her a small distracted peck on her mouth, showing no inclination to linger, barely pressing his warm lips on her colder ones, as he moves to stand back up, muttering again about the blasted slippers laying in the other room. This time she doesn’t resist, giving in to the urge to pull, until she’s able to mush her lips into his. It’s a whole lot less gracefully than the kiss he’d given her when he’d walked in, but it does the job she’d hoped for, mainly that of letting him know exactly where she was going with this. She can see the way it clicks, as he realizes what’s happening. Puts it together, _finally_ , the fancy dinner and the candles and the way she was looking at him and the low light and the dress which showed off her figure at her finest, even as her nipples, pebbled from the cold and the way she imagines his hands on them, show through the thin fabric.

Men. Sometimes they were simply oblivious.

She watches, as he puts it all together, catches up with her, and for a moment, sees the flash of what can only be called pure panic in his eyes and almost loses her nerve. But no, there it is, she sees it, the following flash of pure heat which follows before he squelches it.

‘Laura, no,’ and she might almost have imagined the sadness if it hadn’t been for the warning which accompanies it.

‘Wait, what now?’ she manages to stutter out, but it’s no use, he’s paying her no mind.

‘I’m getting your slippers,’ he continues in that same warning tone, and honestly, she’s so shocked she doesn’t make a move to stop him as he squeezes her hand firmly before rising to grab them from the sleeping section in the back before coming back to kneel at her feet, slippers in hand. Still in shock, she watches as he shods her feet in them as she looks down at the top of his head, just as if she’s that character from that old fairy tale her mother used to tell her to get her to go to sleep, curled up in her cozy bed, a childhood story of charming princes and virtuous maidens and everyday items infused with magical attributes.

‘There,’ she hears him mutter as if to himself as if relieved as he finishes putting the slippers on and regains his seat, but it’s as though he’s talking to her from afar, the words making no sense.

‘Bill,’ she starts, but then forgets what words are, staring at this beautiful, impossible, man.

He seems to realize it, a little, that she’s lost the plot.

‘Cottle says it’s important you stay warm,’ he tells her, looking at her in concern.

She’s going to strangle this man. Look, her mind tells her, almost hysterical about the edges. Her scarf, the one from earlier, the one that she’d worn earlier that day at his insistence, it’s right there. Easy enough of a reach, right?

She was _absolutely_ going to _strangle_ this man.

Shrugging her arms fully through the jacket this time, she wrapped it closed around her, folding her arms protectively over her chest to hold it close as she glared at him.

‘I thought we were on the same page, here, Bill.’

The audacity, the utter nerve, of the man as he frowns at her, almost in confusion, even as he fusses with the frakking blanket again, tucking it in around her legs and thighs, curling the edges in around her waist under where the long edge of his jacket pools around her hips as she sits.

‘Completely, Laura.’

‘Really? Then you’ll need to explain to me exactly what this is. Because I’m a little confused here.’

He softens a little, sinking back into the seat of the sectional a little more, and she resisted the urge to curl her feet under his warm broad thigh the way she’d done a million times before, curled up on this sectional late at night.

Damn it, her feet _were_ cold. But what business what that of his anyway?

Well, it was his fault she was still cold, so it was his responsibility to warm her up, she reasoned, moving her (now) slipper-clad feet closer to his reassuring warmth. She’d fully intended for him to have taken over the responsibility of warming her by now.

Prefably with his body.

It takes everything she has to keep her voice even.

‘I thought,’ she said, starting again, ‘that we’d decided, after this round of exams on Caprica, that we were joining our futures, that we were moving forward on the same path. You, me, the _Valkyrie_. You said the Admiralty would be fine with my staying here, for the foreseeable future, if you were able to pull some strings.’

He’d actually said if they ‘leveraged’ the right people, but whatever.

‘So, I need to know, is that still the plan?’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ he said, forcefully, almost startingly her with his intensity.

‘Because if you’ve decided you’d prefer an ‘alternate’ plan, if you want to talk about doing something different, if you think it’s better if I don’t come back, after I leave for Caprica- ’

‘No. Laura – ’

He was pinching his nose again.

‘I know this wasn’t what you signed up for and I know that it really hasn’t been that long, the time that we’ve known each other, so if you’re having second thoughts, if this wasn’t what you wanted, or if it’s not what you want know, we can talk- ’

She could see him about to interrupt so ignoring him, she barreled on, hoping she’d get a chance to finish before he could break her with his silence.

‘- about options. I just need to know-’

_If you don’t want me,_ she didn’t say.

‘Laura!’

He’d clearly had enough, rising again to pace as he did when he was agitated, this time barely pausing to fill his glass with the amber liquor from the dispenser before he returned to her side. She watched, her heart in throat, even as he refilled her water glass and pressed it into her hand before sitting, shifting a bit to face her.

This time she made sure to keep her feet to herself.

‘I’m not sure you’re getting it, Laura.’

‘Then you’d better explain it to me, Bill.’

Because right now all she saw was a man suffering from cold feet. And unlike hers, she doubted his could be warmed with the proper application of slippers. Mentally, she wondered how long it would take for the service to reopen her apartment if she asked Billy to call them first thing tomorrow. She could rent a hotel room in the meantime, while they arranged things…

‘When I told you, we were coming up together, coming through this together, Laura, I meant it.’

She nodded, already a little reassured, though she couldn’t help working through scenarios in the back of her brain, her brain, still stuck a bit in crisis mode, running all the worse-case scenarios. It was an old habit, and one she’d never been able to totally get over.

_You know. Just in case._

‘Meant it?’

‘MEAN it. Godsdamn it,’ he swore softly. ‘Get it through your thick skill, Roslin. You and I are in it for the long haul.’

_Oh._

_Well. Okay._

_Well._

‘Okay. Then – ’

Maybe he just wasn’t attracted to her? Entirely possible. She certainly wasn’t looking her best at the moment, hadn’t this last year, and it wasn’t as if she was getting any younger. Hells, it wasn’t like she’d ever been considered a great beauty.

‘I care deeply about you, Laura. I need you in my life. I thought we were clear on that.’

Maybe she’d imagined the heat in his eyes?

‘Okay, so. We’ve established that we’re moving forward together.’

‘Yes!’

_Okay, okay._

‘That I’m moving in here, with you, permanently, after this round of tests, treatments, are done.’

‘Right.’

‘But at the moment you’ve no interest in sleeping with me.’

She wasn’t sure the sound that came out of his mouth at that moment was entirely human.

She was sure he hadn’t meant to jostle her so badly that almost all of the water in her glass ended up her lap. All she knows for certain is that somehow she ends up in his lap as he clutches her to him, at the same time as he tries desperately to shake the water loose from her lap before it has a chance to soak through her dress and into her skin.

She’s barely paying attention, he’s whispering apologies into her skin, along with the tiniest of kisses, peppering them where he can find room, and at long last she can breathe again. At long last she’s warm again, sitting in his lap, wrapped in his massive arms that block out the entire world, as he nuzzles under her ear, murmuring sweet nothings and reassurance about how beautiful he finds her. Apologizes again and again for making her doubt it.

And when he finally, finally kisses her properly, kissing her so deeply almost swallows her whole, and as she’s able to shift to kiss him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, she relaxes all the way into him.

They go from zero to sixty in seconds, his kisses turning ravenous and hot until she has to pull away to breathe while he attacks her neck and the pulse point under her ear. His grip is almost painful, now, and she revels in it, revels in the way he grasps at her as he loses control, his kisses mingling with the nonsensical apologies he’s apparently not done muttering.

‘You fell out of the frakking chair and almost onto the floor at my frakking feet,’ he growls at her suddenly between kisses, and she hums acknowledgment of his words, not really paying attention to what they mean, not paying attention to anything really, other than the way his scent wraps around her, making her heady, and the way his skin tastes of salt and home.

‘You’ve told me that before,’ she reminds him as she tries to figure out how to get the buttons of his jacket open. Her fingers are shaking.

‘You almost frakking died,’ he reminds her, stilling her hands, but keeping her safely snuggled in his lap this time.

‘Wait, say what?’ she asks again, trying to clear her head from the fog she’d slipped into. ‘I mean, I know. Well, not that I died, I mean, but I know I scared you. What exactly does that have to do with what we’re doing now?’

Because she’s not dying anymore, the way her heart is racing. He’s certainly not dying now, given the way he’s hard underneath her thigh. She shifts a little in his lap, trying to get the friction right as she rubs into him.

Suddenly it hits her.

‘Wait, what? That’s the problem? That’s why you told me ‘no’? Why you didn’t want to sleep with me? I thought it was because you realized you weren’t attracted to me!’ she practically screams at him now. ‘Frak, Bill, I thought I didn't turn you on, the way I am now!’

‘I asked you to move in, had to move heaven and the Colonies and all the hells to do it, and you thought I wasn’t frakking attracted to you?’ he yells back, almost breaking her eardrums in the process, given how closely they’re woven together.

‘I didn’t know what to think. Up to this point, you haven’t exactly been chomping at the bit to frak me!’

‘You almost _frakking_ died.’

‘Not dying any more than usual _at the moment_ , Bill. What’s your current excuse?’

This time when he kisses her, he bites her lip, hard, before taking control, grasping the back of her head, pulling at her hair, to tilt her head this way and that to position her mouth just the way he likes it, thrusting his tongue in, again and again, to tussle with hers.

‘Ain’t got one,’ he tells her between kisses, and she’s confused a moment, having forgotten what she’s asked him before deciding it doesn’t matter.

Decides to use all her brainpower and all her breath to kiss him back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this update this weekend, hated it, and then re-wrote it. Hope it turned out okay. 
> 
> And yes, before you ask, the next chapter will require a change in the rating - time for a change to E (I will mark accordingly and post warnings in the notes in case anyone might be uncomfortable with that). There, you have been prewarned. 
> 
> In the meantime, thank you for your patience, I TOLD you my muses were stubborn.
> 
> Let me know what you think - I am taking in all the comments and LIVING!


	26. An Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go. Can you tell I'm nervous? That's why you're getting this early. 
> 
> I'm dropping this and running - hopefully you enjoy it, at least a little bit. It's not the craziest smut, but it's a little hot, I think, so I kinda like it. I should say, I've called this chapter An Interlude because it has zero (0) plot. If you are uncomfortable with the E for explicit, feel free to skip the entire thing, you won't miss anything in terms of plot. 
> 
> On a happy note, I remembered all the varied and enjoyable ways to use 'frak'. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Frakking, finally_ , is all she can think as she’s finally exactly where she needs to be.

She’s in his lap, warm with his hard thighs under her and he’s wrapped around her, his hands pressing into her hips and then her waist and now the back of her head, shifting it in the right direction so that he could get the angle he wants, kissing her again and again and again until she’s dizzy. He’s nibbling and licking at her lips, plunging his tongue all the way in to tangle with her. Before long, she’s forgotten anything but getting closer, even as he shifts to torture the edge of her jaw and throat with his gentle lips.

She’s floating.

Able to breathe again, mostly, she throws her head back, gasping for air, as he sucks on the pulse point at the base of her throat, flicking his tongue out from time to time to torture her. Barely able to think, she feels the warmth from his hands and his lips and his body flow through her.

‘Frak,’ is all she can say, over and over again, even as she feels him smile into her skin.

‘Hmm. Later.’

‘Frak. Bill, I can’t-’

Looking down at him from her position in his lap, she takes advantage of the way he looks at her to claim his lips with hers, looking for more that of that magical feeling as they tangle with hers again. It’s not long, though, until she has to break the kiss again, breaks before he does, searching for oxygen, as he once again uses her distraction to return to attacking her skin, this time focusing on the skin covering the bundle of nerves located just below her ear.

She’s remembered her objective though, and though her fingers feel slow and thick, and she can’t help but get distracted as she tries to get them to stop shaking, she fumbles at the buttons for the tunic of his uniform jacket. Hearing his dog tags clank a little against each other as she does so, she focuses in on the sound, determined to get her way into the jacket to find skin. Somehow, she manages to get the top three buttons undone.

The feeling of success is overwhelming. She feels a moment of distant pride at her accomplishment before the realization hits her that, while she’s been distracted, his clever fingers have managed to slip the shoulder strap of her gown off even while he’s been kissing her senseless. It’s fallen down the top of her arm, hanging loose, giving him complete access to her clavicle and the top of her breast. It’s just hanging on though, just enough that he can’t get his mouth to where he clearly wants it to be, as her nipple presses hard just under the edge of the flimsy material. The dress drifts just over the top, barely hiding it, though it’s clear it won’t be hanging on for long if he has his way.

‘How did you manage that?’ she asks, almost to herself. She’s managed a grand total of five opened buttons and he’s well on his way to getting the top of her dress off. Even while she ruminates on how it’s unfair how he’s gotten that far, he’s already slipped off the second strap down her other shoulder, where again it sticks short of his goal.

‘Focus,’ he tells her, even as he frowns at her chest, apparently unhappy at the way the dress has failed to behave as he’s wanted it to. The straps were not meant to stretch that far, leaving the close-fitting bodice ironically sticking closer to her chest than it had been previously even as it has fallen, spread as it is against the tops of her shoulders.

Meanwhile, she’s trying desperately to figure out what he’s talking about, even as-

‘Laura, how do I- ah,’ he purrs in satisfaction into the skin over her breastbone, his lips pressing into her skin with gentle nibbles as his clever, magical fingers find the zipper at the back of the dress and slide it down with one smooth movement. The shoulder straps fall down even further and the bodice gapes completely. Annoyed at the way they restrict the movement of her arms, she shrugs out of the bodice, freeing herself as she sighs in relief and feels the cool air drift over her bare skin.

She’s failed to anticipate how disposing of with the bodice would also free her body to his scrutiny and his tongue, which makes short work of attacking one breast and then the other, while his clever hands take over the job of keeping the other occupied. One of his wide palms support her, pressing into her back firmly to hold her up and in place, while the other joins with his lips to attack her nipples until she’s unsure where one sensation begins and the other ends, his capable hands and rough tongue teasing, sucking and nipping at the sensitive pads of her nipples.

‘No bra, Laura? Naughty, naughty.’

And she thought she hadn’t been able to breathe before.

‘Doesn’t go with the dress,’ she manages to gasp, finally remembering his question.

Frak.

She was gasping for air, could barely remember how to speak and all he’d done at this point was kiss her a little and get her top off to play with her tits. She could only imagine what he was capable of once he’d gotten her completely at his mercy.

(She was looking forward to it; she had a very good imagination. She wanted badly to see how it would compare to reality.) 

‘I knew I liked this dress.’

She couldn’t help it, she all but purrs, sitting in his lap, half-naked, feeling warm from his praise and his gaze as his lips and hands pay homage to her breasts. She can feel the tension rising in her body, but even as she shifts again in his arms, impatient to feel more fully the way he’s hard under her, he shifts, though his lips never leave her skin where they’re engaged seemingly in kissing every inch of it, at this moment pressing little love bites into the undersides of her breasts. She can all but feel the way he smirks at her as she whines, feeling the desperation within her rising.

‘Frak.’ she moans, grinding against him with as much friction as she can manage, surprising a groan out of him in return.

 _Thank the Gods_.

She can’t be the only one losing it here.

The soft leather of the sectional beneath them squeaks a little as they shift, just as she does as she suddenly and unceremoniously set on her feet, her legs shakily keeping her upright but only barely, and she shivers in reaction and the cold, her skin pebbling with goosebumps and reaction. She’s standing on her own power, but only barely, relying on the way his hands, the width of her ass, help hold her steady even as they keep her in place. He takes shameless advantage of this new position he’s put her in, kissing the soft skin of her abdomen with his gentle lips and nuzzling her belly with his nose as he does.

Distracted from the new sensations – they all blend together, and it’s hard to tell at this point where and how she wants to be touched, she just wants _more_ – she almost fails to notice as he slips the dress down to gently push it down her hips from where it had pooled at her waist. As the soft material gives up the ghost, it shifts from the last inch of her skin on which it had been clinging, it falls to her feet, leaving it pooled at her feet. She’s now standing, completely nude in his Quarters in front of him as he sits on the sectional, still fully dressed and she’s so hot she almost wishes he hadn’t turned down the forced air earlier. The heat in his eyes and the way the skin of his palms on her skin alone make her feel as though she’s burning up from the inside.

‘I take it the dress didn’t allow for underwear, either.’

He looks at her like she’s a miracle, a beauty made of flesh and blood instead of marble, worshiping her with his eyes and hand. He slides his hands up the outside of her sides up the length of her legs to the her gentle flare of his waist before skimming them down the inside of her legs, passing by her upper thighs and just missing pressing where she wants them, missing her core where its covered just barely by soft hair. He follows the curve of her body with the tips of his fingers and then the tips of his lips, and she stands there, swaying a bit with the impact of feeling and touch. A little dazed, she looks at him, warmed by the lust pooling in his eyes, as he rises to stand in front of her, still fully dressed, towering over a little given he’s still wearing his shoes.

 _And won’t we have to do something about that_ , she thinks dazedly, even as he scoops her up, the rough wool of his half-undone uniform jacket rough against her flushed cheek. He takes a moment to kiss her, as she’s held in her arms, like she’s a treasure, like she’s a glory made just for him to touch and feel and taste. A precious, protected, fragile little thing, vulnerable and dainty, meant to be treasured and gloried in and loved.

He leaves the dress where it fell on the floor and she remembers.

‘Not really, no.’

That was a lie, obviously, as the material had been voluminous enough to cover any lines, but she’s enjoying the way his eyes turn fierce and hot.

‘Frak. I knew I really liked that dress.’

She loves the way she feels as she looks reflected in his eyes.

It’s a short distance, to his bed, or rather her bed, or rather the bed she’s sure will shortly become theirs. A short distance to the place waiting for them to make their own. To complete the journey they’d begun not so long ago in time, if long-formed in connection. A private, special, intimate place to make their own. Away from the past and the future and anything but the present they intend to enjoy together. She'd always enjoyed it, the way she could be safe as 'Laura' when secure in this space, only Laura, not Adar's crutch or the Caprican School Teacher or the Cabinet Secretary or the grieving daughter and sister. That she could just relax and be her, safe in his space, in his orbit, in his arms. And nowhere does she feel it more than in this place, at this moment.

It feels right, for them here, and now. Feels like everything had finally fallen into place.

As he places her carefully on the rough wool blankets, her hair spreading underneath her on the pillow, he takes care to arrange her just so, taking a moment to take it in, her glory spread before him, before moving to make quick work of his clothes, reminding her of how much further ahead in the process she was, though thankfully, it takes but the work of a moment for him to catch up.

As she moves to pull him towards her, though, she’s startled by the feeling of his hand on her ankle, holding her in place, a warning in his eyes even as he strips off the rest of his clothes and kicks off his shoes. A moment later, he’s joining her on the bed, spreading her legs to make a place for himself there, even as he nibbles his way up her leg, his lips just as hot and as eager as they’d been moments before.

She’s forgotten, though she’s not sure how, exactly how broad his shoulders are, a reality impressed upon her as he crawls his way up her body, forcing her open, before he solves the problem with the simple solution of throwing one of her legs over his shoulder, leaving her open to him in every way, bare to his lips and his hands and his eyes.

She’d gotten a glimpse before, obviously, of how powerful his torso and shoulders are, his defined biceps bulging from the tank tops he was always in such a hurry to cover up, witnessed on very lucky occasions the way he looked coming back from his regular sparring sessions, sneaking glances as he’d made his way back to the quarters down the hall, towel around his neck and arms and neck dripping with sweat. Witnessed how his powerful legs had strained against the material of his pants as he sat beside her. Felt the strength of his thigh under her head as she dozed at night using his thigh as a pillow.

He was wide and defined _everywhere_. Thinking about she’d felt how hard he was earlier, as she’d squirmed in his lap, she made the connection with a sort of distant glee. With the way he was pressing against him now, she realized she’d only had a glimpse of what awaits her and the heat in her spikes.

 _Frak me, frak me, frak me,_ she thinks over and over again, and she’s not sure whether it’s an interjection or a request. She’s not sure if she’s said it allowed or just in her head where it’s taken over her brain. Frak me. She just knows she needs more. He seems content just to tease her, at first, nibbling all the way up and licking at her but stopping just short of where she needs his fingers and his tongue to be. His tongue is so warm and wet and she just -

Frak.

 _Thank you, thank you, oh gods, oh gods, frak_ , is all she manages when he stops teasing and latches on to where she needs it, suckling at her clit even as his fingers gently slip in to stretch her. If she were capable of anything other than sheer gratitude, she might have been embarrassed at how quick she breaks, coming with a broken moan as he continues working her through it, his hands and mouth gentling in and on her as she comes down, though they continue to worship her core.

‘Frak,’ she sighs, trying to think, her left hand thrown over her eyes, her right holding on to the bed covers with all her might.

‘Frak,’ he confirms, smiling, where he’s still between her thighs with one leg thrown over his shoulder, seemingly content to stay there and nibble at her belly and the tender part of the top of her leg at the uppermost part of her inner thigh. His busy hands seem almost too much for her oversensitized skin, but she loves it too much to tell him to stop.

‘It’s been a while,’ she blurts out with a little laugh, breathy and weak, and he laughs a little, back up at her.

‘Yeah, me, too.’

‘Really?’ she manages to get out. ‘Doesn’t seem like it.’

‘Yeah?’

The stupid man looks so insufferably pleased with himself. She’d barely be able to stand it, that smirk, if it weren’t for the fact she’s so blissed out and relaxed. If it weren’t for the fact he seems content to spend all night with his face between her thighs, his body holding her open, and her leg on his shoulder.

Still.

‘Uhn,’ is all she manages.

‘Plus. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. About what I’d do to you, given the chance.’

 _Frak_.

She feels her body react to his words, the tingling starting in her fingers again. She couldn’t, right? It had been, what, a couple of minutes at most…

Still.

‘Really? And what did you have in mind, Admiral?’

The audacity of this man, to raise his left eyebrow at her.

‘Well, so far so good. Naked, in my lap, in my bed, spread out for me like some goddess of old. Panting,’ he tells her, ‘as I make you come.’

‘Bill-‘

 _Frak_.

The tingling intensifies and she simply can’t believe how hot it’s gotten in this room again, as she shifts on the bed trying to get some relief for the tension racing through her body, trapped in his.

‘Frak.’

‘Not now, Laura,’ he scolds, pressing his lips into her inner thigh again. ‘I’m busy.’

‘ _Frak me._ ’

‘Exactly.’

She welcomes it, as his fingers press into her again, almost sloppy in the mess they’ve made together, his tongue and her clit, his fingers digging into her making truly embarrassing sounds, given how wet she is. And she probably would be, embarrassed, but mostly she’s concentrating on remembering to breath as his hands press her hips back into the bed as she cants them, trying desperately for relief from the heat building up in her. He’s rutting against her now, almost subconsciously, she imagines, and she could cry, almost begging for relief from the way the second orgasm builds in her.

 _Frakking, finally_ , she thinks again as he crawls up her body and presses his way in. It feels rights, satisfies her body the way it fills her. Though it burns and stretches a little - it had been a long time, there’s no getting away from that - still it feels good even as it pinches, and he stills, waiting for her, sucking at her tits as he does, playing with her clit with the hand not currently keeping him from crushing himself on top of her. Every swipe at her sensitive clit he takes has her relaxing, a fraction more, every swirl of his tongue on her sensitive nipple has her sinking into the sensation, a fraction more, and every time he mouths at the sensitive crowns of her breasts, she breathes a little easier. She can feel the way he’s holding himself still, she can feel the way his body must be begging to shove his way in her, but he waits and plays with every sensitive nerve ending she has, enjoying the way, it seems, she shimmies and breaks beneath him.

He's watching her, watches her come with him just notched gently inside her, watches her come again, and finally, she’s ready, he’s finally in her fully, sheathed to the hilt, and _frak_ if it doesn’t feel good, even with the way it pinches and even though she’s forgotten how full it feels, to have a man’s cock sunk so deep into her that she forgets where it ends and she begins. The fact that Bill is so wide it feels like she has to stretch like she’s never done before is new, though the two orgasms helped, clearly, and though it takes a minute, she’s almost getting used to the way it feels even as he starts to move.

‘Frak.’

Now it’s her turn, to smirk up at him, as she raises her knees and wraps her entire body, ankles, legs, arms, thighs, around him, helping guide his movements as he moves within in, as they acclimatize to each other. It’s almost surprising, how well they fit each other, like two puzzles pieces from the same set, and her momentary discomfort is soon a memory. He’s looking down at her, almost as if undone, his stormy blue eyes glazed, his hair tousled by her hands, as he bites his lip and tries to keep control even as she can feel the way his arms tremble around her and his body heats with the effort of maintaining control.

It’s never been her thing, coming with her partner inside her, and she’s about to tell him to forget himself, just let go, enjoy, when she realizes that he’s trying to bring her along, his barely controlled thrusts matched by the gentle assault on her clit he’s thumbing with his other hand, a technique very few of her other partners had mastered. (Or tried, for that matter.)

‘Bill-‘

Really, it’s not necessary and it’s never really been possible for her, except for, right? It’s just that –

 _Frak that feels good_. 

Really, really good.

_Frak._

She squirms underneath him, chasing the sensation even as he keeps going. No, she’s never come from penetration, but then, she’s never had anyone manage to make her feel quite that way before, with his cock splitting her in two and his thumb on her clit. The conflicting sensations, both good, both equally intense, hit her in a different way, and _frak_ if she doesn’t want more.

‘Bill-‘

‘Frak, Laura, just, let me, how does that- FRAK, just come for me, baby, want to feel you, frak, you coming with me in you, feels so good, need you-’

And maybe that’s what breaks her, him babbling incoherent praise in her ear as she convulses in his arms for a third time that night, clenching around him as he comes in her, pounding away until they’re both breathless and she can feel the way he comes in spurts before giving way. Even then, though, he’s careful to rest on both elbows so he’s not crushing her, resting on the arms she can feel trembling with his head facedown into her pillow next to hers, their breath intermingling as they pant together.

Laura can feel it, the way he’s going to collapse onto her as his arms threaten to give way, but he’s careful, rolling over to lay beside her before falling on his back as he slips out and they lay there, naked, a moment, breathing in the cool forced air. Finally, she rises up on her elbow to roll over and look down at him, trailing her fingers through the hair on his chest, still sweaty, as he pants at her, looking happier and smugger than she’d ever seen him.

‘Frak,’ he groans, and she burst into quiet laughter.

‘Frak.’

‘Remind me again why we haven’t been doing that every day these past few months.’

Still giggling, she collapses, cuddling in a little at his side, though they both stay somewhat apart, still spent and hot and sweaty.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Got any plans for the next few weeks?’ he asks, and she giggles, feeling the shared pillow shake as they both laugh.

‘Well, I have these tests I’m supposed to do five days from now, but other than that I’m not planning on leaving this bed.‘

‘Good plan.’

‘I thought so.’

She smirks at him, leaning over to kiss him before reluctantly moving to get up and move to the head as her body cools, throwing on his robe on the way. It swamps her, he’s so much broader than her, and it falls down to the middle of her calves, but it’s warm and it smells so deliciously of him she doesn’t care how ridiculous she looks.

‘Shower?’

They barely fit, the two of them, and it’s more intimate than sensual, but as she moves back into their bedroom with brushed teeth and a body that’s warmed and cleaned from the water and his gentle touches, she’s happy they made the effort. Curled up in their warm rack, she watches as he moves around the room, having reclaimed his robe, putting everything in place for the night. The final dishes that go in the cart. Her dress, brought back with reverent care and draped over a chair next to his clothes. The lights, turned off with a capable flick. A final call to check in with Tigh in C.I.C. is his last act before he crawls into bed with her.

That will be something to get used to, she supposes. The demands of his day-to-day life. The pressures of life on a Battlestar permanently. The regular check-ins with Tigh – whom she swears is basically his other half – or whoever is on duty.

They’ll work it out she imagines.

There’s no more talk of him going back to his lonely rack down the hall, no more talk of separate paths or separate beds or separate dinners. Just him, crawling in behind her – she always gets nervous pressed into the wall – wrapping himself around her, arranging the covers over them both and snuggling her close.

‘Do you always sleep like this?’ he asks, and she can feel his reaction in the small of her back, though they’re both exhausted and not just physically.

‘Naked?’ she asks, innocently. ‘Yes.’

‘Frak me.’

She smirks to herself even as he turns off the lights.

She intends to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, you enjoyed my pitiful attempt at smut and I'll see you next week.
> 
> Also - if there's anything you think I should have tagged, please let me know. I'm new at this, but I'm trying.


	27. An Interlude (II)

Five days.

She’d had five days to put herself together and pull together her thoughts for the future and she’d been grateful for every last minute of them. She’d had to use every last minute of them to center herself.

With the situation with Bill resolved (and resolved _often_ over the next few days), she focused on what was to come. On resolving all she’d left behind and all the follow-up the ‘Cure’ entailed. Resolving everything with Adar and Baltar and the world she intended to leave behind. So she could and move forward with their plans.

And now, here they were. After all, they’d been through, the weeks they’d spent patrolling the shipping routes between the Twelve Colonies, travelling the space up to the Red Line, she found herself heading back to the world she’d grown up in less time than she could ever have dreamt. Bill’s efforts aside, his masters, and hers, had demanded her immediate return, _forthwith_ , and every day she dreaded the time ticking away as the _Valkyrie_ took them…home? Funny, it didn’t feel like it.

So here she is, in a shuttle heading away from Valkyrie instead of towards it, and with Gaius Baltar as her escort instead of Bill.

She can’t say it’s an improvement.

‘Well, Laura,’ her erstwhile savior said, as they watched their shuttle inch closer and closer to the waiting space dock, dragging her further and further away from the Battlestar and its crew she’d come to love, ‘here we go.’

He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as they waited, even despite the fact they were sitting, the reports of his research achievements having apparently given him the colonial-wide fame he’d apparently long dreamt off. He is overjoyed with life in general. Gaius Baltar’s genius has finally been realized.

‘…have to tell you,’ he said as he rambled on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she wasn’t listening, ‘couldn’t have done it without you. Why, your recovery, your trust in _me,_ has brought us to this point and I’m sure _you’ll_ agree, it was well worth it.’

He laughed at his own joke, and she resisted the urge to scowl at him.

‘You could even say we’ve been partners I this endeavor,’ he told her in that patronizing tone, ‘and of course, that’s how we’ll be remembered through the ages.’

Sadly, that was most likely true. As a result of what had happened these last few months, their names would be linked together until the end of time. Like she was his pet, she thought. His very own, very brilliant, very lucky, good-luck charm of a lab rat.

He shifted towards her, and for a moment she was sure he intended to wrap his arm around her shoulders in a comradely embrace, but luckily, he refrained, pulling back in time, leaving her free to go back to staring out the Raptor’s window and dream of the stars. Focused on getting through this so she could go home to her family.

_Thank the Gods_ , she thought. She would have hated to have puked on his shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know this is short. And late. It's been a week. 
> 
> Also, on a more serious note, plot-wise we're about to kick off some things. This is the perfect kicking off point, and though I could have added on to this, either by fluffing it out or by adding a second section, it just didn't seem right. 
> 
> Forgive me?


	28. Arrivals

Three hours later, and she still wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to embarrass herself vomiting all over Baltar.

The trip that had seemed so calming, if exhausting, when she’d come up with Bill seemed to be interminable. The smug, satisfied smirk which Baltar sported the entire time, seeming to take over the entirety of his pretty face, had been making her nauseous the entire time down to Caprica City.

Billy, already planet-side, had told her the media attention awaiting their arrival had been intense, and from what he’d gathered, had been that way since they’d entered the system, only intensifying once _Valkyrie_ had pulled into orbit. She was pretty sure Bill had been playing his usual games, hoping to stall, as long as possible, their trip down, but even he couldn’t put it off indefinitely. At this point, no one was sure whether that would make it better or worse, and Colonial authorities had been increasing their pressure on him, and her, since they'd gotten close enough for regular comm contact. 

Baltar, meantime, was still barely able to contain his glee, had been responding to media inquiries from the moment they’d gotten close enough to respond to the wireless requests. The lucky few the Admiralty had ordered Bill to accommodate had been tolerable, mainly since Baltar had made sure to monopolize the interviews, but Laura knew her luck couldn’t hold forever. Once they got over their fascination with the brilliant genius who’d cured cancer, they’d soon move on to his subject. Her notoriety as the former cabinet minister who’d 'nobly' given up her office in the face of certain death wouldn’t help.

'The Dying Leader', indeed.

Maybe she should puke up on Baltar’s shoes? She could feel the bile rising again in her throat as she contemplated it, wondering if it would get her out of this upcoming press conference.

‘Ladies and Gentleman, the woman of the hour!’

As the booming voice echoed across the landing pad as they exited the shuttle, she again reflected wryly that Baltar’s company had actually represented the lesser of two evils. Mentally she cursed herself for failing to see this coming. She couldn’t believe she’d failed to read between the lines of the press release announcing her ‘miraculous’ survival and her return to Caprica today.

_Frak. Frak. Frakety, frak, frak._

She never should have gotten out of Bill’s bed this morning.

If anything, on the surface, Richard Adar looked better than he had when she'd seen him last; rested, more magnetic, charismatic, glowing with seemingly perfect health and bonhomie. As he bounds up the side stairs to the press platform, she sees the shadows under the stage make-up, though, and she struggles to keep her face impassive. Without warning, a whispery voice, her mother’s voice, that of a woman long gone, trigged at the edge of her brain.

_As of this has happened before…_

Struggling not to shudder, she tries to keep her face impassive despite her shock. Even when her mother had still been alive, she’d never been fond of quoting scripture.

She’d barely a moment to recover before Richard grabbed her in a bear hug, seemingly impervious to her shock or the memory of the harsh words they’d exchanged before she’d left on what they’d both had been certain would be her final voyage. She’s stiff in his arms, trying her best not to touch more than absolutely necessary, not that he notices, and she’s sure, not that he cares. He’s making love to the cameras, not to her, inviting them to love him again, the way they always have. The way he'd always needed them to.

_That’s the bitch about coming back from the dead,_ she thinks. You have to deal with all the crap you’d thought you’d escaped for good.

‘President Adar,’ she greets him quietly, trying to keep calm as she greets her old friend and tries to find a way gracefully out of his arms. It doesn't work, though. He lets her wiggle out of his embrace, but keeps his arm around her shoulder, maneuvering her so that he's holding her as they face the cameras, whose flashes go off in masses, blinding her. There are so many of them, the flashes so bright, she can't see, and she tries to remember that she can, in fact, stand. Concentrating very hard, she reminds herself that she doesn't need to fall. She just needs to concentrate, stand still and let the photographers take their fill, as they shout her name and yell instructions she can't decipher, let alone follow, as she stands awkwardly in the embrace of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.

They’d been friends for a long time, companions for far longer, and though she’s done with that life, she’s no urge to hurt him, any more than to consider him a foe. He was part of her past, had helped make her who she was, and there was no reason for either of them to hurt each other anymore. If only for the sake of the Laura Roslin she’d been all those years, she wanted to keep things civil, if distant, between them. To disrespect him, after all those years, would be to disrespect the woman she’d been.

_Plus_ , the little voice whispered in the back of her brain again, _she’d never enjoyed airing her dirty laundry in public._

‘Laura Roslin, welcome home!’

His voice, well-trained and warm, booms across the landing field as he escorts her solicitously over to her seat, settling her in with care, and she sighs. It could have been three minutes, it could have been thirty, since she'd made her way across the stage, she's lost track of time, shocked, as the lights from the flashes still dance in her eyes. It appeared she was going to get a little more of a Presidential welcome than she’d hoped. She’d thought instead she might get a little more of the man she knew privately, who, though impulsive, had was less charming and more real. More of a dreamer and less of a salesman. At least in the early days. She wasn't sure that man still existed, but she'd hoped he might have shown up a little tonight, rather than sending the magnetic man claiming centre stage at the moment.

She was not going to be that lucky though. As he moved around the stage, he was never far from her side, resting his hand on her shoulder as she sat demurely, waiting for this nightmare to end. Try as she could, she couldn't quite ignore the way he kept touching her, trying to ignore the way her skin crawled under the heavy weight of his hand. Truth be told, she’d never been much of a toucher, even with the closest of friends. (She’d never thought she would miss the cancer, but at least when people knew you had it, they weren’t quite so touchy. Richard had been a prime example of that. Objectively he might have known it wasn’t contagious, but that had never quite prevented his visceral reaction to being within five feet of her.) 

Daydreaming a bit as he droned on after taking the podium for his official speech - about The Miracle and how he was so relieved to find she’d been chosen to channel the will of the Gods, about their age-old friendship, blah, blah, blah -she wondered idly how his audience was taking it. Hells, she wondered how his wife was. She knew she made it a policy to watch anytime Richard went on the air, to better critique him, afterward.

_Have a vodka for me, Marie_ , she thought idly. She’d always been friendly with the redoubtable Mrs. Adar, both for reasons obvious and for those less so. They’d never been friends, but they’d always been friendly. Still, she wouldn’t have wanted to be in that woman’s shoes for all the stars in the sky right about now.

She was almost relieved to see Baltar step to the microphone, mostly managing to appear gracious as he shoved aside the President of the Colonies.

‘Thank you, Mr. President,’ the scientist said, expressing in a single sentence his disdain for any gathering where people would prefer to listen to politicians when they could listen to genius. Probably all the emphasis on the will of the Gods and not enough on the brilliance of Gaius Baltar, she imagined.

She almost liked him in that moment.

The thought barely had time to pass through her brain before the moment passed.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr. President. Thank you all, for coming out today, to witness history in the making. And, as the risk of appearing sacrilegious, while the Gods had certainly smiled down on us this day,’ there’s that smirk again, ‘in our efforts and in guiding Secretary Roslin during her trying ordeal these last few months. Truly, my friends, we must all put our thanks in her perseverance and in the efforts of my team and that of her caregivers to overcome the shadow this blight has long cast on humanity.’

_In other words,_ she thought to herself. _Great job, you got cancer, you were smart enough to stay with me and to stay alive long enough for me to achieve my legacy._

_Pompous ass._

Again, even without meaning to, she found herself looking for Six, but she found that the tall blonde was nowhere in sight. Strange really, she was so careful, Laura had noticed, and she rarely let Baltar venture out without her supervision. Noting the way he overtly flirted with the aides on Adar’s staff (who seemed, she noted, to get younger and younger every year), she supposed most people would think Six's watchfulness jealousy and think little of it. At the very least, she imagined Gaius was far from discreet. Still, she couldn’t help but feel there was something else she was missing, something she imagined went far beyond an emotion as simple as human jealously. There was an agenda there, she was sure.

‘Forgive me, gentlemen,’ Adar’s voice interjected, almost in her ear, startling her, distracting her from her ruminations, ‘but you understand, of course, that Secretary Roslin and I have much to discuss.’

The throng of journalists who’d swarmed them as they departed the stage melted away in an instant as Adar’s security detail formed up around them on the way to the waiting cars of the Presidential motorcade, their almost frantic requests for follow-up quotes and interview requests fading away like a buzzing in her ear. She found herself then, once again where she’d started, hustled into a waiting town car, at the mercy of her Glorious Leader.

Frak.

She couldn’t believe she actually missed Baltar in that moment. Unbelievably, it had been less than half a day since they’d first boarded _Valkryie's_ shuttle together.

‘Mr. President,’ she said absently, not knowing where to start.

‘Madame Secretary,’ he replied, a twisted smile on his lips.

He was laughing at her, though she couldn’t totally blame him. She had been thrown off-kilter, by everything that had happened since they’d arrived planet-side, still struggling to get her bearings, as he preened in front of her like the canary who'd gotten at the cream.

And what was that, she wondered, this continued and stringent emphasis on her former title on his part? Bill and his crew had insisted on using the honorific, had been emphatic on emphasis, really, but their agenda in doing so had been clear, from the beginning. It had been a reminder, to her above all, of their respect for her, of their respect for her new position at Bill’s side. They would have addressed her as Dr. Roslin or Ms. Roslin with the same respect, had the situation called for it, she was sure.

Richard, though, she was far from sure as to what, exactly, he was hiding behind the emphasis on her former title. Although it had proved useful in the past, her insistence on using it, as a reminder of her leverage over him, she had the feeling the ground had shifted beneath her feet, a feeling she was familiar with, though it was far from welcome. She wondered how firm she’d have to be with him in this regard. That life was over, and she had no intention of returning to her former position at his side. In any capacity. 

This was meant to be an ending, not a resumption, of her former life.

Suddenly though, the use of her honorific, the ‘Madame Secretary’ he’d always insisted on didn’t feel so honorary.

_What in the hells was he playing at?_


	29. Complications

So, it's come to this. She and Richard in the back of the presidential limousine.

Again.

For a moment it is as though nothing had changed this last year. Some of the press had taken to calling her Adar's 'lucky charm' during his presidential election campaign and his first administration, she was so often in his presence. She'd had his Press Secretary shut down the rumours - by the simple expedient of laughing at them - and the use of the use of the knickname had faded significantly during the end of her time in his Cabinet, but it just hits too close to home, with her being back here. 

Really, the gods must be laughing at her.

Chagrined, she noted the presence of one of the top members of his senior staff, Harold Robinson, who joined them. The close quarters, with the three of them crammed in, only emphasizing in that moment how close he was and reminding her how much she’d looked forward to never seeing him again. Tall, thin, and patrician, he was representative of Adar's determination to make inroads into the stratosphere of Caprica's elite, and she'd never liked him. Never respected him, either, to be fair. 

‘I don’t know what you’re playing at,’ she said to Adar, then, the moment door shut behind them, disregarding Robinson’s presence, much as she’d always done. Honestly, the man reminded her of a snake oil salesman.

Thank the gods she’d had Bill stay behind this first trip back to Caprica. He'd wanted to come, wanted to keep a watchful eye on how she was treated, both by Baltar and by Adar, and she'd had to put her foot down, reminding him she was still entirely capable of taking care of herself. She wasn’t sure she was up to preventing bloodshed this soon, no matter how often Gaius assured her she was completely cured.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Laura,’ Adar oozed over her, and she sighed, wishing this day over.

At this rate, it looked like the only bloodshed on this trip would be her doing.

‘I thought we settled all of this before I left,’ she reminded her 'old friend' sweetly.

‘Laura. Laura. Honestly, water under the bridge. Not to worry, I forgave you your moment of weakness the moment the words left your mouth.’

He leaned forward to pat her hand in a way she was sure he though was comforting and she fought back the primal urge to bite it. Truly, his patronizing attitude was so thick she was sure she could cut it with a knife. Even when they’d been together it had never been the most attractive aspect of his personality and he was currently taking it to new heights.

‘Besides,’ he reminded her, as he sat back comfortably in the plush leather of the vintage automobile, ‘I’m pretty sure that you were so high from all the meds those doctors had you on that you’d little idea what you were saying. I couldn’t hold you responsible for anything you said in that moment.’

Considering that she’d told him _in that particular moment_ that he was a pompous prick and that she’d made it clear she’d was glad she’d never again be forced to clean up his shit, she was sure he was eager to let it fade from memory. 'To let bygones be bygones' as he would say.

‘I told you you were a pompous prick who needed to get his head out of his ass if he wanted a hope in hells of getting re-elected,’ she reminded him sweetly.

‘You did.’

He frowned at her, and even as Robinson looked ready to jump in to mediate, she could tell Adar was trying to convince himself that she’d meant it playfully.

‘You did, Laura, you really did, and that’s why I know I need you. I thought about it, what you told me that day, and I really took it to heart,’ he paused and gave her a soulful look, ‘and though it hurt me, and though it caused me to say some hurtful things in return, I respected it, what you were trying to tell me. It forced me to think, really think, _radically_ , about some things. I’ve always respected your insights, your willingness to stand toe to toe with me, Laura, you know that and I know this was one of those things that you felt you needed to say.’

_Oh, for frak’s sake._

‘Richard – ‘

She was cut off as the limo came to an abrupt stop, throwing her partially out of her seat as she swore under her breath.

‘Apologies, Mr. President,’ the driver, yet another Secret Service agent, said as the divider between the sections slid partially open. ‘There’s been a minor security breach. They tell me we’ll be on our way again in two minutes.'

She found it hard to keep her face composed, her heart hammering in her chest, as sure enough the car started moving again moments later.

What. The. Hells.

The political situation in the Twelve Colonies had never been placid, but serious security scares involving the President were almost unheard of. In fact, from time to time, she’d wondered if the Secret Service was actually overdoing it, with their public presence at least. Obviously, the President had to have protection, but the amount of security that shadowed him had always seemed like overkill. As a Cabinet member she’d never given her personal safety a moment’s thought, and it had never been necessary for anything more than the basic precaution necessary when it had come to the President's security, at least in peacetime. The presence of more than two agents with him had in fact caused comment from time to time.

Looking at Robinson and Adar, she restrained the urge to scream at them. She’d been gone from the cabinet for a mere matter of months, barely a year. How badly had the two of them been able to frak things up while she’d been gone?

‘What’s going on?’ she asked quietly, willing herself to keep her observations on their need for adult supervision to a minimum.

‘Security precautions, that’s all, ‘ Richard hurried to assure her, though she could tell his confidence had been shaken by the unexpected interruption.

‘Security precautions,’ she repeated softly, the question implied.

She wondered how much she should push him. She fully intended out of this life, she wasn’t going back, but as a private citizen of Caprica and the Twelve Colonies, she had a right to be concerned. She wondered now how much, _exactly_ , she should be concerned.

‘That’s right,’ Robinson slid in smoothly, meeting her eyes even as Richard stared at the limousine's plush carpet.

What the hells was going on here? And what was Robinson's role in it?

 _Not your problem, Laura, not your problem,_ she told herself, trying to remind herself to stay out of it, to resist the urge to ask about his role in Richard’s staff. He’d always been an influential advisor, and it looked as if his influence had grown in the time in the hospital and on the _Valkyrie._ She couldn't bring herself to regret the clean break she’d made, that day in her hospital room as Bill had waited for her, but she’d known there’d be consequences for her actions, and she’d known this would be one of them. Nature abhorred a vacuum after all, and Richard had always needed a confidante to lean on. She’d known that if it couldn’t be her, then someone would have to step up to fill that void, for good or ill.

Apparently, Robinson had stepped up.

‘Indeed,’ she replied. She meant to keep her eye on this one.

In the meantime, the presidential limo had apparently cleared the security hitch and continued to speed its steady course through the heavy traffic of the Capitol. She stared up at the government buildings housing the Executive branch as she alight gratefully from the car, happy to escape the tension she’d found there. She made sure to remind herself, again, that she just had to jump this small hurdle before she could tie off her time with Adar and his legacy and move on with her future.

_I'm coming, Bill. Just wait. I'll be home soon._

Frak, she was homesick already and it hadn't even been a full day. How was she was supposed to survive the next few weeks or so? She missed her - _lover, Laura, it's okay, you can call him your lover_ \- more than she'd thought possible, even though she'd seen him this morning when he'd escorted him to the shuttle. She missed his comforting bulk at her back, she missed his arm under hers as they walked, she missed his heat, she missed the way his calm blue eyes looked at her, reminding her of what she was possible of. She missed his calm voice in her ear reminding her that all she had to jump through this hoop and then she was free to rejoin him. It had been so tempting to take him up on his offer to come with her, for today at least. She'd had to give herself a stern reminder of why that would have been a bad idea, a reality that had impressed itself firmly when she'd seen Adar on stage, though at this moment, she found herself wishing she'd taken the easy way out.

She sighed, acknowledging it. 

_I'm such a baby._

Here she'd always been so proud of the fact that she managed on her own, that she needed no one, man or woman, to prop her up, especially not emotionally. Now she could barely get through the day without winging, at least mentally, about the fact that she wouldn't get to sleep in Bill's bed tonight. On Bill's ship. With Bill's family. Under Bill's blankets with Bill's warm arms wrapped snugly around her and Bill's breath wafting softly against her ear. 

Five days. Five days since they'd started sleeping together, and she was already so addicted she could barely remember what it was like sleeping without him. 

_Well, you'll get a reminder tonight_ , she thought wryly at herself. Her bed would be cold and empty tonight, free of the quiet vibration of the _Valkyrie_ she could swear she always felt, and while she was sure that bed and that room would be nice and full of fluffy blankets and sound-proofed, she was already sure she wouldn't sleep nearly as well. 

They'd moved to leave the limo as she'd sulked internally, and a part of her gloried in the fact that she could manage the simple fact of exiting the car on her own feet, let alone proceed calmly along the street and into the building on her own two feet. There had been times during this last year during which the thought of walking unaided had seemed as unreachable as the stars. It was reassuring to complete this small task, of walking on her own two feet without the need of even a cane. As she'd recovered more fully, she'd come to realize exactly how much she'd deteriorated physically over the past year, and as much as she'd cursed the physical therapy sessions when she'd undergoing them, they'd proved their worth again and again. 

Having reached the decision to see this through, she proceeded calmly alongside Adar through the corridors of power as they proceeded to his office. She’d been there so often these halls should have felt familiar, comforting even, though the truth was, she’d never felt fully home here, even as Cabinet Secretary. She felt a small pang as they passed the corridor which had led to the suite of offices of the Secretary of Education, _her_ former offices, but she breathed deeply and it passed, as she reminded herself that office had a new occupant now, and a new sense of purpose, just as she did. She wished her successor well and buried those memories, both the good and the bad, in the mist of the past. 

There was any number of people who wanted to stop them, her and Adar, on their way, to express their welcome, to congratulate her on her recovery, more people than Laura would have though possible, and their journey was longer than she remembered. Indeed, the route to the Presidential suite of offices - designed to be as a imposing and as grand as possible, and located deep within through the corridors of power - was intentionally lengthy, so that in the end of their trip she was lagging, barely able to keep up with Adar’s long strides. Cottle had warned her not to overdo it, but she was leery of exposing any weakness, to Adar and to Robinson, in particular, so she hid it, the way she longed to sit down, rest, catch her breath for a moment. Maybe two. Instead, and eager to get this over with so that she could sleep for week in the safely of her own space, even if it had to be a hotel room, she forced herself forward.

As she entered - finally - the Executive Suites, Peter Thorsen, the President’s personal aide, inquired quietly as to her arrangements on Caprica as Adar checked in with his staff.

‘Where are you staying these days, Madame Secretary? Can I offer the services of the President’s team to find you a place nearby? Or to have you house opened and aired? I’m sure you won’t want to deal with it tonight.’

She could have wept with gratitude at the thoughtful gesture, knowing it came from Peter’s generous heart. She gratefully took the moment, as he opened the door for her and she greeted the President’s executive secretary, Steven Curry, accepting his equally generous offer of a cup of tea, to frame her reply.

‘Thank you, no. I _am_ planning to stay at a hotel these next few days, but Billy, Keikaya, my former aide - I think you know him from State? - he’s made all the arrangements.’

Bless them, these two sweet men, who’d had the same thought, one which had only occurred to her at the last moment of the shuttle’s descent into Caprica.

 _Oh, crap,_ she’d thought in a panic as she looked down at the beautiful blue of her home world, _where am I going to stay tonight?_

‘Of course,’ Peter smiled at her and she forced herself to return to the thread of the conversation. ‘Well, if there is anything you need, please let us know. Anthony and I have missed you this past year.’

She moved in quickly to give him a gentle hug, grateful as always that he’d never moved away, even when she’d been riddled with cancer and others had shied away. Though she was convinced of her ability to handle Adar and Robinson, she wasn’t looking forward to the looming conversation. She felt as though she’d lost a lifeline as he moved to speak to Adar in preparation to stepping out. She’d been at his wedding and the christening of his first child. He’d always been the one calm face of Adar’s often chaotic administration, and his sly humour had often made her question exactly how much he saw behind the scenes. Everything, she imagined. 

As Peter escorted her into the Presidential office and into her chair before he made to make his way out of the room, she moved forward slightly to catch his attention, speaking softly for his ears alone once she had.

‘Should anyone, from the _Valkyrie_ ,’ knowing her location these past few months had become public knowledge, ‘need to find me – ‘

‘Of course, Madame Secretary. Or Billy, of course,’ he responded quietly.

_Good boy._

‘Of course.’

She was indeed grateful for the generous souls she'd met over the years here, even if she had every intention of wrapping this up as quickly as possible before either of the Williams in her life came looking for her. Given their last interaction with Adar, she wasn't sure anyone would enjoy a repeat of those interactions.

Turning her attention to Richard, she was surprised as he shooed Robinson out of the room. She would have thought he would have held on to his moral support and back-up. Instead, the older man nodded his head slightly, but respectfully, in her direction as he walked past her on his way to the door to the short corridor that connected his office as Chief of Staff to that of the President.

She waited until she heard the door click behind him before she looked once again at the boss they’d once shared.

‘So. Did you want to tell me what’s going on?’

He moved to pace heedlessly, never a good sign, and she grew more and more concerned, though she let the silence drag on, needing him to sweat it out a little bit. Making him come to her. She’d always been more likely to get at the truth that way.

‘We have it all under control, Laura.’

Really?

Security threats, the Secret Service on edge, the prominence of Robinson at public events, Adar’s insistence on deferring to her… Hells, event he prominent placement of Caprica’s resident genius, Gaius Baltar at the Press Conference. Even though Baltar had been responsible for The Cure, Richard had never liked being second fiddle. Ever. Especially publicly. 

‘What is it, exactly, that you have under control?’ she asked quietly, concerned.

She'd long learned that Richard had never been fond of conflict, had in fact often used it to her advantage. He’d never been that type of politician, never been the one to call out opponents on the floor of Congress, to engage others in lively debates, despite his prominent showing during elections. No, his popularity was mainly due to his natural magnetism, his success governing due to the majority he'd been able to convoy into the Congress along with him and his legendary one-on-one negotiating skills. And, she'd admit at least to herself - and, reluctantly, to Bill - the capacity and dedication of his staff and Cabinet, whose loyalty he'd always managed to keep, despite everything. It was this which had given him his edge, which reflected his natural strengths. Ironically, he'd always left the heavy lifting - conflict-wise - to her.

It had always meant, as it did now, that he'd ever been able to win when they fought privately. 

‘Look, I know the last time we spoke you said you weren’t coming back -’

‘When I was in on death’s door?’ she asked politely, _too_ politely, determined to break through his denial. He could dance around any subject he chose for hours.

‘ – when you were _in the hospital_. But, Laura, this is different. Things are different now. You’re better. Anyone can see that. And this isn’t just about you and me, anymore. I’m not the only one who needs you. _We_ need you. _Caprica_ needs you.’

‘Seriously? Richard, that old chestnut went out with the Cylon War. The key question is _why_ does Caprica need me? What is going on?’

When he said nothing and only continued to pace, she knew she would need to force his hand. Sighing, she stood, smoothing her jacket as she did. If she had to walk out the door to force him to see how serious she was, she had to be clear that she was ready to do so. 

‘Richard. Stop. What is it?’

She could almost see him deflate in front of her, as the weight falls from his shoulders, as he sits wearily in the massive chair that sat next to his desk, rather than in the position of power behind it. He suddenly looked more tired, older, than she’d ever seen him. Even older than the day she’d told him she had cancer. Even older than that day she'd eviscerated him, his character and his legacy as he'd stood in her hospital room. Despite herself, despite everything he’d done to her, everything they’d done together, and to each other, she felt herself soften in front of him. Felt the need to comfort him, even.

She forced her shoulders back, reminding herself not to falter, not backtrack. Reminded herself of her plan here.

‘Richard. What have you done?’

He kept this focus on his hands, looking lost, once more, and though normally she’d let him come to her, today she felt the need to push. Though she knew it was cliché even as she said it, she had to try.

‘Richard. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.’

Again, she couldn’t help thinking it.

_What have you done?_

She’d been gone from Cabinet less than a year.

How bad could it be?

‘It seemed like such a small thing at the time,’ he said, so softly, almost to himself, so softly she had to strain to hear him.

‘Richard- What the _frak_ have you done?’


	30. Arguments and Airlocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short update to say 'Happy' New Year, 2021. 
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm trying to get back into this. I found it difficult to write about civil-military conflicts and politicians desperate to hang onto power by an illegal means possible given January 6. And then COVID hit my household.
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to try to work my back into my sweet Roslin and Adama drama, though it's going to be slow. (Added bonus to COVID: tiredness and an inability to concentrate enough to read my own handwriting, apparently.)
> 
> All to say - I'm back, lol.

They fought, bitterly, over her decision, which was to be expected. Bill Adama was not one to be easily deterred. The quieter he got; as they fought, the more she worried.

It didn't help that they weren't even in the same room, let alone the same planet. This was not the conversation she'd wished to have by video call, and the fact that she couldn't even reach out to touch him made her feel even sicker to her stomach than she'd been when she'd reached out for the phone to call him.

‘Think, Laura. The last time you _pitched_ in for Richard Adar, it nearly killed you.’

‘Don’t think we can blame cancer on Adar, Bill, no matter how much we want to,’ she reminded him, smiling despite herself.

‘Don’t mess with me, Laura. I’m not in the mood.’

He turned to pace, not looking at her, and she watched, wondering how she could make him understand. She knew he would support whatever decision she made, eventually. She knew his concerns came only from his concern for her, nothing more, which made her more willing to explain her decision than she otherwise might be. She knew though, despite everything, that it made little difference, knew that this was something she _had_ to do.

‘I'm needed here, Bill, and you know it. It’s not for long. I just need to tie this off and move on.’

‘I don’t know shit. And I thought you’d tied everything off when you’d discussed your plan for your funeral while the two of you were busy in that hospital room.’

It was easy to hear the subtext; he practically shouted it.

_While you’d exiled me to the corridor._

‘No,’ he continued, and, surely seeing her wince, he went again for the jugular, aiming for that tender spot where she was most vulnerable.

‘Not there then? Maybe in his office earlier, when you keeled over and feel out of the chair at my feet?’

‘Bill-‘

Ruthlessly, he continued.

‘You know when your eyes rolled back into your head and I thought you’d stopped breathing.'

This time she knew, that he paused because it hurt, hurt way more than it had ever hurt her.

'For a second, holding you on the floor, I wasn’t sure you were going to start again.’

She winced again, knowing he’d relived that moment over and over in his head since the day they'd met.

‘That’s really not enough, Laura? Why is that you ready to kill yourself for him? What exactly does he have over. Just brush him off.’

He rubs his hand over his face, and she wishes, again, that she could touch him.

‘Whatever it is, he doesn’t deserve your loyalty, Laura. No matter what you shared in the past. I’m not sure he ever did.’

Worse than the screaming matches; worse than the glares he knew how to level at her so effectively, worse than that was the silence that followed. It was excruciating. She wasn’t sure how long he planned to keep it up, this punishment of silence, though, given their past scrimmages, she imagined it would probably be quite some time.

He had to know how it effective it was, had to know how the guilt it evoked sat like a red-hot poker in her stomach. More than that, _despite_ that, she knew he used it more as a coping mechanism than as a means of punishing her. Much she fell back on gallows humour, to hold herself together, he used the silence to keep his anger and anxiety under control, to keep from shouting incoherently out into the void. It was this knowledge that made her hate his silence, even more, hate it even as it burrowed into her to poison her heart and steal her breath.

Still, she moved forward quietly with her plan, even as they looked silently at each other, each on their end of the line, him in his quarters that she missed desperately, her the sterile hotel room that bounced all the white light around until she couldn't breathe.

So she waited for the storm to pass; as it surely would. As it surely must. 

***

Richard Adar truly was a punk. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know this, Bill reminded himself. The signs had been clear as day and he’d read them long before he’d actually met the man and had all his suspicions confirmed. Thoroughly.

Seriously. The man was a prick. A grade-A prick.

He reminded himself that Laura was a big girl, perfectly able to make her own decisions and, now that the cancer was in remission, perfectly able to handle what that prick could throw at her. Gods know he trusted her judgement more than he did his own. Even if, in this case, he was concerned there might be a massive blind spot in her thinking.

As Lee would attest, his obsession with loyalty, even where not everyone would see the value, was both one of his greatest strengths and one of his most notable weaknesses. It was one of the many reasons he’d been able to keep Saul Tigh in his life for over thirty years.

So, yes. He understood loyalty. He understood family. He just wasn’t sure why anyone would want to claim Adar as one of theirs. At least his family (extended and otherwise), had always been fiercely loyal in return; were, if anything overly protective of him, even when it would have made their lives so much easier if they hadn’t been caught up in his orbit.

At least his family loved him.

He was pretty sure the only thing Adar loved was himself. And power. The wan was positively drunk with power.

In the meantime, though, if he couldn’t send the erstwhile President of the Twelve Colonies out his favourite airlock, Bill was becoming painfully aware that he would be forced in the end to come to terms with Laura's decision and let her off the hook. Respect the decision she'd apparently made planetside during her visit with Adar. If she felt she had to support her former colleague, bring his government back from the brink, if she truly felt that was the penance she owed for her presence all those years at Adar’s side - then he had little choice but to support her in this, as in most things. He laughed a little at himself. She was winning this particular fight anyway, and the outcome had never been in much doubt. Like it or not, she'd long had him wrapped around her little finger.

She'd also showed little interest in reading him into whatever jam Adar had gotten himself into, a jam which was apparently so dire that she’d convinced herself that she had to step in, putting both her recovery, and he was sure, her very self, at risk. Too risky, too dire, she said. Wait. She'd said. _Give it time,_ she'd said, _let me find out more, before I fill you in_. 

Frak.

May he should reconsider finding a way to use that airlock in regards to Adar. It was just sitting there, after all…


End file.
